David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published July 19, 2005

Trashing my former sparkling doodads is a real thrill

The only thing more satisfying than buying something is throwing it away.

That's OK, you can admit it. Buying is fun. I enjoy it as much as the next guy. Some people get a bigger thrill out of it than I do, but I do my fair share of retail consumption. There's nothing like plunking down your hard-earned cash on a new and improved sparkling doodad.

But as exhilarating as buying is, I think throwing away that sparkling doodad is even better. Most doodads turn into junk. It doesn't happen overnight, but it does happen. There's a fine line between a piece of junk and a prized possession, but most everything we buy will eventually transform into junk.

Here is the abbreviated history of most every item you have ever purchased.

Phase I: Something catches your eye. You buy it, take it home and find a "special place" for it. You call friends and family and tell them all about it. Sparkle factor is high.

Phase II: The item you bought still warms your heart, but the purchase buzz is gone. It's no longer in a "special place" because you had to make room for a more recent purchase. Sparkle factor is above average.

Phase III: When you look at it, you're not sure what its purpose is. You had a reason for buying it, but you can't remember what it was. No longer in a "special place," the item now is crowded out by newer and shinier items. Sparkle factor is low.

Phase IV: The item has been moved away from your living space. You still like it, well kind of, but you need room for other things. You stash it in the garage or storage room, only temporarily you tell yourself, until you can find "a good spot" for it again. Sparkle rating is on life-support.

Phase V: Your garage is so packed with junk that you can't open your car doors. It's time for a garage sale. The item you so proudly hailed a few years ago now sits in a box marked "Everything 25¢" alongside ripped paperback books, a solitary flip-flop and an 8-track tape of the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack. Sparkle rating is nonexistent.

That's where we were last weekend, anguishing in Phase V. We were up to our eyebrows in Phase V. In February I wrote about all the junk (a.k.a. former sparkling doodads) that we had in our house. Well, it came to a head. Something had to go -- us or the junk.

I've come to realize that part of the reason we have (make that "had") so much junk is that we haven't moved in more than 10 years. Moving is like bran flakes. It flushes everything out. As you pack for a move, you go through all your goodies and decide whether they're worth the trip. The good stuff gets boxed, the junk gets tossed. But if you don't move, you're not forced to make those tough choices. It's easier to just put your junk in the garage and wait for divine intervention or a garage sale, whichever comes first.

Although it's a lot of work to prepare for one, I actually like hosting a garage sale. I'm lord of the manor as the serfs come in from the fields to look through the items I've deemed all but worthless. A bean bag chair for 75¢! How magnanimous! Man oh man, I'm something else.

There's a funny little sub-economy that develops at garage sales. In the everyday world, we deal with whole-dollar amounts -- $5, $10, $100, whatever. We don't sweat the change. At a garage sale, though, you'll see folks quibbling over a used piece of Tupperware priced to move at a dime. Oh, maybe they'll pay a nickel, but a dime? You must be mad! Nowhere else but at a garage sale will you see Americans dickering over 5 cents.

It's the exact opposite of a convenience store. At the Kwik-E-Mart, if you need an item badly enough, you'll gladly pay $5 for a quart of motor oil, $39 for a pack of diapers, $4 for a smokehouse Slim Jim. At a convenience store, we'll shell out $1.69 for a single Coke, but we'll haggle for 10 minutes at a garage sale hoping to get a dried-out lava lamp down to 35¢. If I could open a garage sale at the Kwik-E-Mart, I'd be rich beyond my dreams. Or maybe I'd be dirt poor. I haven't worked it all out yet.

Toward the end of our garage sale, we had slashed prices to the bone. We were all but begging people to take our stuff. "Make an offer, any offer," we'd say. "Just please take it! I want my garage back! I want to go back to Phase I!"

· · ·
David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.