$86 profit isn’t bad when you consider that prices started at 25¢, with the average price hovering around 50¢ per item. J’s oatmeal chocolate chip and raisin cookies were a profit centre of their own at 25¢ each, and our day’s take would have been significantly higher if we hadn’t dipped into the cookie jar whenever business slowed. Which was pretty often, as things turned out; evidentally Sundays are not the best day to hold a yard sale. Or we could have blamed the weather: according to received wisdom, sunny days are not the best day for yard sales (although I should note that received wisdom is simultaneously of the opposite opinion: yard sales and rain do not mix well either).

The four of us (J and I and two friends) found ourselves on the receiving end of a lot of unsolicited wisdom during our joint yard sale a week ago. Browsers seem to become unsettled with four pairs of eyes fixed intently between their shoulder blades (their every hesitation noted and extrapolated—willed!—towards a sale). They react to this intense attention by reflexively throwing off bits of unsolicited advice like the aluminum chaff deployed by military aircraft under fire. Whenever a fresh face appeared at the end of the driveway we began our silent yard sale voodoo: “Make us an offer, any offer”; and “Please, oh benevolent God: don’t make us pack this stuff back into boxes.”

The largest single sale was a pair of shoes (“Brand new,” J emphasizes as she turns the shoes to catch the light. “I’ve never worn them.”) — priced hopefully at $35 but knocked down to $25 after vigorous negotiations. From this windfall a vertiginous descent: the director’s chair at $8 (“A steal! Complete with a spare set of canvas!!”); via the clay garlic baker-oven (“It’s priced at $4 but you can have it for a toonie. Better yet: make that a dollar. It’s brand new!”); to rock bottom: a mind-numbing assortment of 25¢ bric-a-brac, displayed on a sheet of plywood, their every scratch, chip and nick exposed beneath the glare of a noontime sun.

What did we learn? We learned that we had to employ all possible means of fanning the faintest spark of interest into flame. Which is why exclamation marks are de rigeur on yard sale signage; ours sported a crop of exclamation marks as vigorous and ubiquitous as crabgrass. You must read your signage as is you were a potential buyer: unadorned, the word “Cheap” is lustreless and unappealing; the eye slides off it without feeling any need to bring it to the attention of the brain. “Cheap!!!”, on the other hand, instantly sparks the synapses into action; a reflexive reaching for the wallet follows nanoseconds later.

We learned that children are the weak link in any family’s armour; you can be virtually guaranteed to divest yourself of the most god-awful bit of kitsch — as long as you can point out its cuteness quotient to a child before the parent intervenes. “Have you ever seen such a cute little fuzzy bunny?!!” you might exclaim; or “Isn’t this the cutest papier maché box you’ve ever seen? Wouldn’t it make a perfect treasure chest / jewelry box?!”

We learned that a “Free!” box is indespensible. Ours was positioned at the head of the driveway with a notice on it in black felt pen: “Every sale — no matter how small!! — earns you the right to select one item from our “Free” box!!” At noon the phrase “earns you the right” was vigorously crossed out and replaced by “comes with an obligation.” One boy was thrilled to find a Lord of the Rings keychain in the “Free” box; this treasure caused his older brother to rummage desperately in search of something even better. I’d almost sold him on the merits of our vintage answering machine (starting price: $4; knocked down to $2 during the Great Noontime Discouragement; consigned to the “Free” box at 1:00): “I’m sure a young man-about-town such as yourself must receive a lot of calls” — but his mother vetoed the idea before his hope could properly take root; evidently she knows junk when she sees it.