Buyers Remorse

I got a text from Hub's on Friday morning. He'd entered the uncharted waters of Storage Auctions.

I went with him on two, simply to watch, learn, and laugh. People watching is crazy business at a storage auction! Almost as good as in Family Court, but I digress.

We so weren't buying anything.

We were distinctly, not buying.


The text began, in fits and starts with the three units for sale; how two of them housed complete junk and trash....followed by some agonizing silence. The third unit? Was that trash too? Did someone overpay for that one?

Of course someone bought it.

We did.

Personally, I might have started smaller (or not at all, ps.).  The rules are pretty clear: you have 24 hours to get all of someone else's stuff out. Oh. Right. And the law stating all personal items need be returned. I tend to trend along the lines of what I'd want to find in a returned box; Hub's is going with anything that has their name on it.

I'm glad we're not posting these boxes. 

Loads of the boxes constituted " important personal items", now holding court on one dining room chair.....birth records and certificates, back to 1910, Social Security Cards, gun permits (1934, the gun, already sold in case you were wondering),wedding photos, the ashes of a beloved dog they'd cremated, death certificates of various relations (or enemies I suppose), hospital records and bills. I thoughtfully included the Holy Very Scary Naked Photos nestled up with a #2 pencil I used to gouge out my eyes.

Among a ton of other things. 

I wish I'd saved to count all the lighters we've discovered, am thrilled that the needles all are (so far) capped, and I took a moment to wonder just who saves a hatchet in their sweater drawer. I thought perhaps poor packing skill, until I found the cleaver cleverly tucked in among tampons and mouthwash, circa 1984. Her Tampax really packs a wallop. 

People Are Really Weird. 

Especially those on illicit drugs.


Let's just say that those glassine baggies I found, the little ones? That white residue? Hmmm. Most likely goes with the extensive selection of razor blades, some ripped right out of a Lady Bic, some flittering about unattended, sharp side up, and the mirror boasting snorting snot marks. I figured out what the little pouches containing a spoon, lighter, and hypodermic are; thank God for Law & Order. Without knowledge imparted during a pregnancy spent on our sofa, I might never have identified half of those things.

For the record? Free-basing doesn't lead to more illicit drugs (does anything even top that?) it leads to horticulture. Mint boxes, necklace lockets, old photo canisters hold selections of seeds. Little baby pot plants waiting to sprout and mature. Too bad I'm not that much of a risk taker. We could've grown, like, a lot of pot. 

This history of the family fascinates me; the little snippets gleaned from a forest of delinquent bills, saved Hallmark cards, drawings, post-it notes of phone numbers, certificates of rabies vaccinations, spaying, court documents (both civil and criminal), how meticulous one of the owners must have been at some point to save all of her pay stubs from her first job in 1952. 

And hair.

Braided, pony-tailed, bangs, of several of her offspring. A vial labeled Bob's Teeth captivated even the kid's attention. C'mon. How many of you could wander by a dining table and not stop at that? Bob's Teeth?

The could also have gold in 'em. I thought that was a bit of a stretch, but at this point? Who knew? It didn't. It held Bob's three tooth crown. To cover that unsightly spot he must have had right in the front row.

Cameras. Crapy jewelry. 75 watches. Sharp tools. An otoscope. A snakeskin that I feared meant a large snake might be residing in this mess. So far, we've not found it. I'm hoping this means it is not currently living in my garage. Three ipod nanos. A pattern to make clothes for a 27" doll. A book to build our own sports plane. Thank goodness it wasn't how to build your own boat; he might actually take that on.  Barbie magazines.  The Mickey Mouse Flip Book is cute - and worth something - the lipstick shaped like a pink penis? Not so much.

A. Penis. Lipstick.

The furniture sold in the yard sale Hub's buddy held the next day. We broke even. Mostly. Kind of. Not really. After we paid the kids for working, add in gas, food during this extravaganza, we spent money to have the uplifting and enlightening experience of viewing and sorting someone's else's stuff. I'm paying for an experience we cannot duplicate in our own home.

He's convincing me that we'll more than break even. Sort of.

Guess what.

I'm not buying it.