Buying and Selling your Lifejunk

Having a garage sale is an altering experience. I find myself looking at every single thing that I own in a different light now. Instead of taking my artifacts for granted, I look at everything with two thoughts in my mind - is it worth keeping, and how much could I sell it for?

It is a nice feeling, too, to know that I am paring down my collection of shit. I went to my sister's today to look through a mountain of boxes that I have had stored there for almost two years now. I found a few things that made me exclaim, "oh there it is!" But for the most part, I realized that I have held on to so many things that I neither need or want anymore, and it feels great to be "slimming down" the inventory. If I lived without all that crap for two years now, then I really don't need it.

But then it's so HARD to give up certain things. Like, I put a price tag on my microwave today without a second thought, because I really never used it much and I know I can always go buy a new one someday when I get the urge. But then I have these stupid lanterns that I've been collecting over the years - no monetary value to them, except maybe to a scrap dealer - and each one that I tagged felt like I was tearing out a piece of a vital organ. So stupid - if I actually had them displayed, they would just collect dust, and yet when they're in a BOX they seem to have more value.

Bridgette and I watched this show called "America's Got Talent" tonight. Ho-hum. It is ssoooo contrived. It's a bunch of bottom-shelf talent acts mixed in with a couple good ones, so as to make you believe that the producers just dragged these people in off the street and somehow miraculously found a few gems in the mix. Then the three judges were obviously picked to resemble American Idol's lineup, including a British dude to throw out insults and look annoyed a la Cowell. And then there's Brandy, who seems about as smart as a bent nail. The few good acts seemed as if they were called in from the Shrine Circus. It was wretched.

I'm so glad I don't watch much tv anymore.

Ok, here's another addition to my "annoyances" category. I went in Walgreen's this evening to pick up my prescription. I wasn't in any hurry, so I sort of browsed my way back to the pharmacy counter, looking at a few drug-store junk items on the way. In the 45 seconds it took me to get from front to back of the store, I was asked twice, "Can I help you find something?" I know that the kindly associates are probably forced to do that, so I don't blame them personally. But please Walgreens - shopping is a purely private pleasure for me, and I don't like to be bothered! I don't think I walked into Walgreen's with a bewildered, cat-stuck-in-a-heater-duct look! I didn't crash into aisles while aimlessly searching for the best form of vitamin E. I just wanted to take my time. And I always feel like I have to be overly nice when I respond, or else give some sort of excuse as to why I'm looking without buying.

I need some sleep.

Annoyances, Building.

The last two days have been, for some odd reason, full of annoyances. Every time I undergo a task, or step foot out of my door, something happens that just makes me want to tear my skin off.

Yesterday, for example. I was taking a leisurely drive through my new hometown of Escanaba. At a stop sign, I turn my head to notice a city police chap coming up behind me. I didn't worry for an instant, like I usually do, because I was following all the laws of the land. Except I didn't have my seatbelt on.

Automatically, my hand reached for the buckle, but it was too late. The lights started flashing on the squad car, and I was pulled over. I was in a great mood, so I didn't worry too much. I just reached over to the glove-box to retrieve my registration and insurance info. Except they were not in the glove-box.

Frantically I searched, but it was no use. So the tall, look-at-me-I'm-so-frightening cop sighed and went back to his car. I lit a cigarette and sat back, waiting and figuring the fine in my head. I kept waiting. And waiting. Oh no, I thought. Something's amiss.

Finally he returned, and stood rather far back from my window, so I had to crane my neck in a weird fashion. "Charles, are you aware that your license was suspended in Dickinson County?"

Suddenly I remembered. I had a ticket in February, for a bad headlight, and I had forgotten about it until too late. When I got a notice in the mail in March, stating that my license was suspended until I took care of the ticket, I went to the courthouse. After paying a handsome fine, they gave me a small slip of paper to put in my wallet. If I was pulled over again, I was to show that slip of paper, saying that my license had been un-suspended, or whatever.

I showed him the slip, and he asked, in the most condescending manner possible, "Why didn't you show me this before?"

I explained that I had simply forgot about it, and that since that was taken care of in March, I figured it had been cleared by now and that I wouldn't have to worry about showing it. (Thank God I hadn't washed my wallet recently, which happens often if I leave it in a pair of dirty jeans.)

Anyway, after a few more minutes, the "friendly" officer returned and said that, since I didn't have proof of insurance or registration, my car was not drivable (sp?) and that I would have to leave it parked, go buy insurance, go to the Secretary of State's office and get a duplicate registration card, and show the proof when I was done. I explained to him that I DID have insurance, and that i would just simply call my company and have a copy faxed to me. Well, he acted like I was lying to him, and repeated that I needed to go "buy some insurance." GRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Anyway, for some fateful reason, my traffic stop occured only three blocks from the Secretary of State office. I told the officer that I would walk over there, get the registration, get my insurance faxed, and everything would be peachy. He told me that I needed to get the insurance proof first, and that he would be happy to give me a ride to the Secretary of State office.

Of course, his version of "giving me a ride" meant that i had to be patted down for weapons, then locked into the back seat of his vehicle. If you haven't been in a police car lately, they have changed. There is no back seat - instead, there is a hard plastic "bench" that you sit on, apparently so that if you leave any of your felonious body fluids behind, they can simply be wiped away. In other words, they make you sit on hard plastic so that you feel more like a criminal.

The ride went quickly, of course, and when we got to the secretary of state office, the kindly officer bid me goodbye. I sent a text to the wonderful Bridgette Brady, who I knew had just laid down for a nap, and told her of my predicament. We had my insurance proof faxed to her workplace, I went in to the secretary of state office, and after a short wait, went to the counter to get my duplicate registration.

As it turned out, I had never registered my car. Don't ask me why. I guess I never got a notice before my birthday, like usual, and just never gave it a thought. Anyway, $115.00 was required for the sticker, and luckily I had my checkbook, to an account with no money in it, but that's a whole other story. My car is now registered and legal, but I'm too poor to buy gasoline now because I had to pay $115.00 for a sticker. Well the day was already half-shot, so it didn't matter.

Anyway, that was the first annoyance of many. Check back for more annoying entries. -DM