Garage Sale!

WAYNE’S WORDS
Volume 1 Number 8
Garage Sale

Women can get you to do just about anything.

So I did it again. I had a garage sale.

8 years ago I vowed to myself to never have another one! I must say, however, that this weekend’s sale was a lot more profitable and a lot more fun than the one in 1999. I don’t know why it was more profitable. My crap wasn’t any better this time than my 1999 crap and the customers were sure NOT willing to pay more than they were back then. I do know it was more fun because of my partner in crime.

The need to get rid of some crap came up because I asked my girlfriend to move in with me and for some reason she actually said yes. She is a fool. So, anyway we had doubles of a lot of crap and a lot of crap for which we didn’t have room. The garage sale came up because my girlfriend said we should have one and for some reason I said yes. I am a fool.

Have you ever prepared for one of these things? We spent all week getting ready. We gathered crap, sorted crap and stored crap. We were constantly singing the Clash’s Should I Stay or Should I Go in our heads about some of the crap we weren’t sure about. We argued a tiny bit about crap. It was kind of a crappy week. Ha, ha.

I even went to the trouble of going to get hangers from the dry cleaners (Thanks Comet!) to hang all of the clothing up so people could go through it easier. I borrowed a round retail clothing rack from a friend (Thanks to The Gen) so I wouldn’t have to hang all the clothes across my garage door opening on a rope.

We decided the night before the sale to price the furniture and small crap on the table (candlesticks, walkmans, etc.) and we made a large poster sized price list for the clothing on the rack. We also spent Friday evening (prior to the big day) rearranging the garage itself so that we could pull the stuff into the driveway in order so it would be arranged all nice and neat. We are fools.

We might as well have thrown all the crap into the driveway at 7am and let the people dig through the pile until they found something they liked and told them to tell us how much they wanted to pay for it. They didn’t care about prices. They didn’t care about how neatly it was displayed. They only cared about the fact that they wanted it and only wanted to pay a quarter for it.

Many people have told me that the haggling is the best part of the garage sale experience. Those people are fools. I can kind of understand not wanting to pay a whole fifty dollars for a sofa (what were we thinking), but the clothing buyers were the folks that really irked me!

We had my girlfriend’s Tommy Hilfiger, barely worn jeans marked at a buck or two. These jeans cost anywhere from 60 to 100 bucks a pair. “Pagaré cincuenta centavos para este!” I don’t think I understand garage sale-ese so I said ok and the lady gave me 50 cents! What the hell? It was not an isolated incident either; it kept happening over and over. Finally I gave up and made a sign that I stuck to the rack that read “All clothes on rack 50 cents each.” It was quite funny how everyone who moments before could not – (say it like Chris Tucker with me) “unnerstand the words that were comin’ out of my mouf” could suddenly read English! What quick studies they were.

Now that we have sold the extra couches and tables for next to nothing, my suits for 50 cents each, name brand purses for 25 cents (I don’t know if they were Coach but they were fancy) and a whole slew of our other belongings for nickels and dimes - I am just happy it’s over. I guess it wasn’t all bad; we did deal in volume so we made a few hundred dollars off of several thousand dollars worth of our crap. I guess that’s something.

We also got to work on a project together. That is really the cool part, the togetherness, the “us against them” feeling. Then after the whole thing was done, we decided on spending more time together and blew our profits on dinner. We are fools.

Until Next Time,
Wayne

Public Potty

WAYNE’S WORDS
Volume 1 Number 7
Public Potty

I was at Wally World today. Argh! I have a love/hate relationship with that store.

I love the World because it has most things I need in one stop and of course, really good prices. Today I was looking for wire hangers (sorry Mommy Dearest). And as much as I love those two facts about the World - and most other, how you say, box stores - I hate them with a red hot passion! So much I try my best not to go there, but alas, I do.

To be honest, the source of my hatred is NOT the stores, selection or prices. It is the people! Before you say “amen, I have problems with the employees at those places myself,” bite your tongue! I am talking about the other people…us, the idiotic box store shopping public.

Son of a gun! Are we all not the worst people in the world? Not because we want to save money, not because we want to one-stop-shop – in fact, those two reasons make us good, financially responsible people. The reason we box store shoppers are the worst people in the world is because we are the biggest pigs ever! We are so vile!

I have seen the writing on the bathroom wall and it is scrawled in feces! I hate to be disgusting, but it is true! Do NOT for one minute blame it on the employees. Trust me, I have had to cross my legs and do the pee-pee dance for quite awhile while the janitorial staff attended to the facilities; I HAVE witnessed staff members cleaning them! It is like customers see the word “public restroom” on a sign, just walk in and let loose. How difficult is it to flush?!?! For that matter, how hard is it to actually go inside the bowl or urinal?? Can you dispose of the TP and the paper towels properly? And who in hell goes in and just starts breaking things? Idiots! Guys, you know what I mean on this one….who in hell is standing at the urinal and at the same time picking a nose goblin only to leave it on the wall you get to stare at when you come in to let the juice loose? COME ON!!!!!!!

This is by no means isolated to the Wally World toilets. That is just the most recent occurrence in my life. I have come across this disgusting phenomenon in other stores, theaters and even restaurants. It is true of the many of the public restrooms in this city, nay in this country!

Is this all the doing of just one slob that goes around to all the public restrooms wreaking havoc on the poor unsuspecting stalls that wait there patiently for the public to use? No! We need to ALL be held accountable and we ALL need to do something about it. Please, don’t pick up other people’s crap (no pun intended), but I beg you to be responsible for your own.

It is not that hard to do. I’ll bet we all do it at home. Use tissue! Flush! Wash! Dry! Dispose! Walk Out! If we each did this I bet we would all be happier (and YES I do clean up after myself in those situations)! I bet the janitorial staff would be REALLY happy, because then they would only have to clean the bathrooms rather than scour them like they were porcelain and tile versions of Karen Silkwood.

Suspend for just a moment the reality that there is a binary bathroom situation in public and imagine if your Grandmother was going to go in and use the facilities right after you were finished. Would you make sure you cleaned up your own mess a little better? Of course you would.

Maybe Senator Larry Craig IS innocent. Maybe his “wide stance” was due to the fact that he was trying to keep his feet out of someone else’s filth on the public restroom floor.

Probably not, but maybe.

Until Next Time,
Wayne

PS While we are on this crappy subject; if anyone needs a poopy baby diaper, just go look in ANY parking lot in Las Cruces and I am sure you will find at least one. My car’s rear passenger tire did!! Gross, people!!!!!

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig!

WAYNE’S WORDS

Volume 1 Number 6
Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig!

Well, I am back from Beaumont, TX. Nothing really crazy happened there.

It was pretty normal except for a few items:

• My eyeball nearly exploded out of my skull during our descent into Houston,
• My boss and I (both of us in Search & Rescue, mind you) got lost on some very scary backstreets in Beaumont while using a GPS navigation system (when those things state that the street is unrecognized – be afraid),
• Trying to figure out the difference between a rown-daig, a hoe-laig and a regg-laig as the Cajun girl at the Mickey Dee’s drive-thru window tried to tell us something regarding our breakfast order – our final response was “um, ok,”
• Walking out of any given air-conditioned building or car in the Beaumont area and being temporarily blinded because my sunglasses fogged up,
• Nearly being murdered by my boss (and possibly other hotel guests) because my snoring was louder than any grizzly on “When Animals Attack,”
• And finally, multiple near-death experiences while riding around with the Beaumont office’s staff – those people drive like – there is no description except OHMIGAWD LOOKOUT!

As is the case with most business trips – the return home was a beautiful thing. You get back to your pets, loved ones and as far as the business part goes, you get back to your home office.

Ah, the home office, where you have the love and admiration of your peers.

Ah, the home office, where you know they will glad to see you upon your return.

Would you like to see how I was welcomed back to work by my loving colleagues?

That is me (notice the "I'm-so-hated-here-posture) next to the entry into my cubicle. The sign actually reads "We missed you!"Jackasses!

That is me inside my cubicle! Jackasses!

That is the view from above my cubicle - that crap is nearly five and a half feet deep AND covers the entire area! Jackasses!

Seven lawn and leaf bags, a good sized box and one hour later! Jackasses!

I guess Thomas Wolfe was right, "You can't go home again!"

I missed you all too. Jackasses!

Until Next Time,
Wayne

Nothing

WAYNE’S WORDS
Volume 1 Number 5
Nothing.

What to say? What to say? I don’t know

It is time for another installment of this little thing and I am actually at a loss for words; a loss for Wayne’s Words.

You suck, Wayne. How hard can it be to come up with something to write about in a week?

It doesn’t seem like it would be difficult, but it is sometimes. Over the past week I have thought of many things to write about, but I am just not “feeling it” for any of those topics. Now I sit down to the keyboard and nothing really comes forth and my mind wanders (due to the ADD with which I am afflicted).

I am leaving for Beaumont, Texas in just a couple of hours. Wee! I am traveling to hurricane alley during the height of the season and… it will just be hot and hellishly muggy.

Las Cruces, however is supposed to get a little hurricane action as soon as I leave. I have seen this one spelled three different ways on different web news sites. It is Henrietta, Henriette or Henriett. I am not sure which is actually right, but the City of the Crosses should see a little of it while I am in Texas.

Again my mind wanders… “One foot on the brake, one on the gas” The lyrics to Sammy Hagar’s I Can’t Drive 55 keep coursing through my pea brain. I must have heard it earlier today. I wonder if Sammy is happy these days since the speed limit is usually 75 mph. I think he is probably still unable to maintain and observe the appropriate speed limit. Some people are never satisfied.

“And we danced, like a wave on the ocean. Romanced, we were liars in love” Now what? The Hooters And We Danced lyrics are now rattling around. I know I didn’t hear that one today. Were they clever with their little fancy name - The Hooters? Why are they not the house band at that sports bar with the cleavage? Is that just too obvious? I think not. I bet they would do anything for a gig now. I know they took their name from a nickname for the melodica, a type of keyboard harmonica which is German in origin and made by Hohner and as much as I liked their songs (they were catchy), I am now wondering if The Hooters weren’t just a bunch of boobs?

Is Happy Days available on DVD yet? I miss that show. It was actually a nice half hour of fun. It was pretty wholesome and honesty and integrity always ended up winning out in the end, even for Fonzie who was a hoodlum that grew and matured to finally be a business owner. If, today, we would just remember the words of wisdom often voiced by Al Delvecchio, “Chachi, Chachi, Chachi,” all of our problems would be solved.

Chachi, Chachi, Chachi – so true, Al, so true.

Crap, I gotta go catch a plane.

Until Next Time,
Wayne