Illustration by Bob AulHey, you: Remember me? The girl hosting her first garage sale? You were that crabby little lady in the straw hat who insulted me. Your sour little face has festered in my memory for quite a while, and I feel it's time to give a little shout-out. All I wanted was to have a happy little garage sale and make some dashboard cash. You created a war zone of bargaining and merchandise appraisal. It wasn't the stock exchange, sweetheart. You should have bought the Christmas ornament for 25 cents or left me the hell alone. But no, not you. You had to inspect my leftover college crap with a disgusted grunt. You bargained with me on every little knickknack down to the penny, just to see how low you could go, and then you refused to buy anything. Finally, after 30 minutes of watching me suffer, you bought a stupid little basket with some fake flowers for $1. One stinking dollar. Sensing victory close at hand, you then held up a pair of unused post-its and demanded, “You give me these for free!” I was through bargaining with you. I said, “You know what? Sure. Take them and enjoy.” Your beady eyes narrowed, and you smiled like you won the lotto. You took the post-its and the basket and waved them in front of my face, pronouncing loudly for the benefit of everyone there, “You're a sucker!” My boyfriend laughed. I didn't. I had the momentary fantasy of shoving the dollar bill right up your ass. But being the gregarious person I am, I didn't say a word, just politely smiled as you trundled off with your new keepsakes. Do you know why I smiled? That basket I sold you used to be my dog's favorite hump toy. Now go wash your hands, bitch.
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