Post 236: The World is My Back Yard

A certain group of suburban dwellers likes to have a rolling home, a living space on wheels, a recreational vehicle that knows the way to the best camp-outs anywhere.

Giving up yard sales is often difficult for these types.

Yard Sale (Backyard)

 post 236 back yard

Huge yard sale!

 

As Ralph commented, Just plug the location into your GPS. But this is a Minnie Winterbagel! Is Sparky selling the dog? Is that the side yard or the back yard? Is it lunch time yet? So much questioning. Have a good weekend.

Advertisements

9 thoughts on “Post 236: The World is My Back Yard

  1. Interesting RV trivia: RV types who intend to vote have to maintain a fixed address for at least 6 weeks to do so.
    Which they sorta hafta for DL, and registration papers, too.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Can I buy the backyard by the yard, wherever it is? Why don’t we have meter sales? And who would buy a headless poodle?

    [corey] I sometimes take a few hours to cruise yard sales, but only if I can get to at least a dozen near each other. Most of them have junk that is of no use to me – kids’ clothes, bric-a-brac, Christmas crap, dishes, furniture, etc. – and I can move on in a minute or two. However, I also find tools, $5 laptops, an 18hp outboard for $25 I got running with $15 worth of parts, etc. The problem is some Sparkies don’t list their towns on craigslist so you have to click on the map in the listing to find out which Elm Street. In this case there was no clue; maybe you’re supposed to watch for Minnie and follow her home. [corey/]

    Liked by 2 people

  3. He didn’t understand it. It had been four and a half hours. He had put flyers up on every lamp post, telephone pole, newspaper box, and community bulletin board in a 10-mile radius, and even put an ad up on Craigslist, but so far, not a single, solitary bite. Not even an inquiry. Oh, he saw quite a few people pass by, stop momentarily, regard the sign at the front edge of his lawn that read in bold, red, expertly-painted letters on a hand-hewn oak plank, “YARD SALE,” look around a bit, make an indiscernible face, and then walk away. But Flunt couldn’t figure it out. Was it not what they wanted? Not what they expected? Was there something else wrong? He looked briefly around and spotted Boogle, his poodle, taking a big ol’ dump right there on the grass.
    “BOOGLE!” Flunt shouted as he bolted toward the pooch, making exaggerated waving motions with his arms. “BAD dog! BAD! I just make this yard absolutely spotless this morning! Bad dog!”
    For its part, Boogle scraped the ground with his hind legs in an effort to conceal his business under a few blades of grass, then bolted and hid under a loose bit of newspaper, which the breeze promptly blew away, leaving Boogle to seek further shelter under a cheap plastic deck chair.
    Flunt tisked, then went to fetch a plastic bag. He pushed it inside-out with his hand and picked up the mess with the inside of the bag, pulling it right-way-out as he did, so the poop was contained in the bag, tutting and complaining about soiling his nice clean yard all the while.
    “Excuse me?” came a voice from behind. Startled, Flunt bolted straight up and pivoted on a heel almost in mid-air, such was the speed of his ascent, concealing the bag of doodie behind him with both hands like a child caught sneaking cookies. He couldn’t very well have anyone seeing that.
    Flunt forced a sunny, wide smile. Maybe too wide. Yes, it was definitely too wide, the sort of width only the guilty assumed when they’re not entirely sure if they’ve been caught and want to hedge the bet that they haven’t. “Hi there!” Too loud. Too cheery. Keep it level. “Uh, hi, what can I do for you?”
    “Uh, yeah, um…” The man looked around briefly, seeming confused. “Is this is 184 Steepnipple Rd?”
    Flunt beamed. Finally, a customer! “Absolutely, this is the place!”
    The man frowned, furrowed his brow, and looked around again, his apparent perplexity growing. “So, like, the flyers and signs say there’s supposed to be a yard sale here?”
    Flunt bobbed his head rapidly. No, no, too much bob, far too much, mustn’t appear too eager, they’ll try and cheat you if they think you’re desperate to sell. He regained his composure. “Indeed there is!”
    The man’s brow furrowed even more, the grooves in his forehead looking deep enough to plant corn in. “Er, where is the stuff for sale?”
    Flunt spread his arms, only to realize he still had the bag of crap clutched in one fist, so he quickly flung them behind his back again. The feces had enough momentum from the swing that they pushed a hole right through the bag, sailed across his yard, and stuck to the side of his Winnebago. Flunt didn’t notice. “Right here!”
    The man looked around again, first left, then right, then, just for good measure, left again, before turning back to Flunt. “Where?”
    Flunt dipped his forehead downwards several times, determined to keep his arms where they were. “You’re standing on it!”
    To his credit, the man’s face did register the briefest moment of relief that he clearly missed something. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came as the man looked down, pivoting around his feet, lifting each shoe in turn in case he’d accidentally stepped in it.
    Flunt just as briefly worried that he’d missed one of Boogle’s messes, but the man’s shoes had come up clean. Thank goodness.
    “I…” The man seemed at a loss for words. He made a few noises that sounded like they were trying to become words but couldn’t figure out how, before turning straight around and walking off like someone who wanted to get away as quickly as they could without it being too obvious that they were fleeing.
    Flunt felt dejected. “Well, this sucks,” he muttered at the grass, his tone an equal mixture of disappointment and angry frustration. He just didn’t understand it. It was fine! Better than fine, it was in perfect condition! He made sure of that, he’d painstakingly looked after it the whole time he had it! There was absolutely nothing wrong with it! No, sir, he just didn’t understand it. “Why doesn’t anyone want to buy my yard?!”

    Liked by 4 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s