It may be true that time waits for no man, unless his watch has stopped, but it sure isn’t true for any man — or woman — who attends a yard sale.
That’s what I found out when my daughter recently had a sale that was supposed to begin at 9 a.m. but which attracted a flock of time-ignorant early birds, the first of whom showed up at the ungodly hour of 6:52 in the morning.
“Were they on Mountain Time?” I asked my daughter after my wife, Sue, and I, who participated in the sale, arrived at 8 o’clock, Eastern Time, to put out our stuff and have large doses of caffeine to wake up.
“I don’t think they can read,” replied my daughter, who put up large signs around her neighborhood and posted notices on social media advertising the sale, which clearly had the hours — 9 a.m. to 2 p.m. — but didn’t deter the crowd of bargain hunters who were roaming the yard when Sue and I showed up.
“Do you have any fishing equipment?” asked a gentleman who was angling for a deal.
“The only two things you need for a successful fishing outing are cold beer and straight hooks,” I replied.
“Straight hooks?” the guy wondered.
“So the fish won’t interrupt your beer drinking,” I explained.
After he left, I made a mental note to have a cold one when the sale was over.
But that wouldn’t happen for hours. In the meantime, I was the official greeter. This involved giving stupid answers to legitimate questions.
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