Monday, October 09, 2006


This past Saturday's Stoop Sale was a blast! Josh (my friend visiting from LA) and I arrived at Chris & Gary's apartment a few minutes before noon and the stoop was already buzzing with people milling about, digging through boxes of T-Shirts and Jeans, and doing their best to haggle down prices that were already in the single digits. Chris and Gary, along with their friends, Janelle and Pete, were already doing a brisk business so I quickly set up my shop, which consisted of a large shelf that I ripped out of my bedroom closet and brought along to prop on the waist-high fence surrounding a tree in the sidewalk. I made my first sale before finishing the task of tastefully arranging my wears on this table.

When the noon rush finally died down we took a much needed Irish coffee break and geared up for the next wave of bargain-obsessed treasure hunters. Chris warned me that the local loons surface for any stoop sale but no amount of pre-game talk could have prepared me for the woman that spent over an hour at our sale. Like any savvy shopper, this woman (who I'll refer to as Nut Job) wanted to know the name of the sales-person assisting her. At first, telling NJ her name seemed like an ok idea to Chris but as the day wore on, NJ's constant shouts of "Christine (or Irene)! What's this?!" proved her wrong. This was obviously not NJ's first stoop sale and as she continuously balanced a Jacob's ladder of cigarettes (light, smoke, repeat) while examining the merchandise, she asked the kinds of questions that only a seasoned-shopper would think. Tire-kicking questions such as holding up a plate and shouting "Irene! What's this?" only to follow the obvious answer of "A plate" with the even more hard-biting, "Is it supposed to be round?"

At some point during Nut Job's visit we switched to Irish Diet Cokes and as the day and whisky drew to an end, I tucked my shelf under my arm and headed home with a lot less crap and over $60 in my pocket. A proper stoop sale.


  1. You forgot to mention the outrageousness and gall of N.J. piling up a stack of clothes and goods as if setting them aside to purchase them only to tell "Irene" that she had only a few dollars. And then telling the sad story about her recent bout of poverty after having to kick her boyfriend out of her apartment. And her boobs!

  2. Anonymous8:30 AM

    She had to kick her boobs out of her apartment?