Archive for November 22nd, 2008

I hate to say this, but this is that harbinger of real hard times: when you have to pay more money for used stuff.

Years ago we experienced it in Canada, where the consumer spending power is, I would guess on average, half or less of the spending here. You had to pay $15 for a used coat in Canada, they wouldn’t just give it to you for a couple bucks. I mean, moms would be out at the thrift store hunting for the things, also for the Sorel boots for children, which almost no one could afford new because they were $150.  To lay hands on that kind of money up there, you had to belong to the professional class. 

In the last few weeks, here in Fort Worth, I’ve been feeling like the same thing is happening as I go garage saling. I go out and look around and I get this strange feeling from the proprietors, a feeling I’ve never gotten from them so strongly and so consistently, like they’re watching the money coming in.  Like they feel they need it. 

The estate sale my 12-year-old and I attended yesterday in Tanglewood was the worst. Although the street sign was huge, the savings were not. An arcrylic music box which played Moon River and Fur Elise looked like fun. But not at $25. A pyrex casarole dish was $5; you could get it at Walmart for $7. A bowtie and cumberbund set was $10. A mink coat at $700 was, to my mind, more understandable, but then, perhaps that’s because I would never buy a mink coat and I don’t have a fix on its value.  Small hand-held mixer, $10. My son tried to show me that.

“We have a Kitchen Aid,” I reminded him. “There is nothing you need this for if you’ve got a stand mixer.” He shrugged. He just wanted to buy something. Towels were $2, but they weren’t exspecially new or nice. 

Many monogrammed items were for sale, even items with the deceased’s name on them, which I will not repeat, even though it would increase the poignance of the story. The proprietor at the front gave us the wether eye as we thanked her and left empty-handed. I noticed others leaving the same way. I thought of bending down, looking her in the eye, and saying “your prices are too high, you’re going to have to cut them in half if you want this stuff to move at all,” but it wasn’t my business and I knew she was angry about the situation already.

We walked away. “Why couldn’t we buy something?” my son asked.  I shrugged. The cool air of winter blew over us, promising early morning freezes, ice rain, heaters cranked up. I was grateful our heater is gas. It’s cheaper and it feels better too.

“We’ve got to shop really carefully now,” I told him. “Times are tough.”