There’s a guy who lives a short bike ride from our place who has an ongoing garage sale. It’s not on every day; just on weekends, and sometimes, the occasional weekday:His wares are set up on folding tables and shelves that seem to be set up all the time. There’s no indication that he takes them down or puts them away when he isn’t having a sale. It appears that he does cover the goods with tarps, shower curtains, and large trash bags when it rains.
The stuff is a mish-mash of household goods: mostly appliances and tools in various states of neglect or disrepair. There’s an impressive set of the rustiest drill bits I’ve ever seen. I once bought a pair of needle-nose pliers from him; they were a great deal at two bucks, and they’re hard to ruin through neglect.
Towards the back of the sale area was a set of metal shelves. Past a guitar amp that had seen better days were these items:
They they were, among a still-shrink-wrapped box of Lipton tea pages and an apparently-unopened box of face masks was an open box of Trojan condoms.
I tipped it on its side to see if it actually had condoms or something else…
“Behind every item at a yard sale, there’s a story,” the saying goes. I wonder what this story was.
And because I know you’re wondering: No, I did not buy any.
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