RUMMAGE SALE HUMOR FOR SEXUAL ASSAULT SURVIVORS: THE BEST DOLLAR I EVER SPENT
Photo by Rainer Puster
July is rummage sale month at my church, and the ticket to getting the most out of it is being involved from set-up to tear-down. How else can you understand the volunteers’ territoriality? “We don’t take puzzles! This is the toys and games department!” A plastic tub of wash cloths shows up in housewares because “Tupperware is not sold in Linens.”
One must keep in mind that rummage does not translate to “trash.” No, sir. Dirty toys and pie plates crusted with apple cinnamon syrup get pitched. “Adult” coloring books with mild pictures, but filthy language go directly into the recycling bin. (Who donates those to the church sale?) Then there’s the high-quality cloth poster that says, “Let that shit go.” I share it at my Al-Anon meeting. People laugh out loud. The woman beside me puts a dollar in my hand, says, “Give this to your church. I need that!”
Being an insider allows one to purchase items even prior to pre-sale. I pay full price for the Shakespearean Swear Box, 60 magnetic words you can use to compose millions of insults. Immediately I craft: “You are a foul-mouthed, lecherous, malignant maggot.” “You’re a mewling, odious, dull ninny.” It includes a dictionary, so I know all the definitions. I also can’t resist the belly-dancing kit: two sets of finger-chimes make a nice addition to the tub of musical instruments for my grandchildren. But my husband doesn’t get to see the multi-colored jewels with which I’m supposed to encircle my navel, then swivel my hips enticingly. (Again, who donates this stuff?)
Fear of missing out is a thing in rummage sale prep. A generous couple prepares an extensive lunch for workers who arrive at 9 a.m. and stay until 3 p.m. These guys make chicken salad with red grapes and lots of celery, cucumbers and onions, split-pea soup, pulled pork, mac and cheese from scratch, brownies, and chocolate chip cookies over two weeks of preparation. The FOMO people show up at 11 and leave at 1!
As bookroom coordinator, I notice empty slots on my shelves each morning (pre-pre-sale?). A volunteer from the holiday room confesses on Monday, “I borrowed two novels and read them over the weekend; I’ll put them back.” My coworker doesn’t miss a beat: “Did you pay our rental fee?” Someone asks the sale head honcho if she can listen to 6 CDs to see if she likes them (marked $1 apiece). Reluctantly, the boss says okay. Oh, wait, I was one who asked that, but I actually bought 4 of them!
Pre-sale customers pay $2 at the door and form a long line in 90-degree heat before entering. Eyebrows raise to the hairline when a silver-haired woman with a yellow wagon charges through the throng saying, “Outta my way. Comin’ through!”
There’s a throw-back to K-Mart with our “blue light specials” on day 2. A guy randomly visits departments and for 15 minutes, everything there is half-price. Mayhem! I’m next to the “collectibles” room and a woman comes panting into the book room and dumps two armloads of items on my table. On her second trip she brings a tri-colored light to shine on her silver Christmas tree. “$100 is too much, so I’m waiting until the room next door is 50% off.” She follows blue-light-man for the next hour. The moment he announces the special in collectibles, she says to me, “I owe you $209; are you gonna trust me or go through my mountain of stuff item by item?”
Shortly thereafter, the weekend book borrower dashes in, plucks a paperback from a shelf, and asks me to hide it under the cash box until our department has the blue light special. “Come get me and I’ll pay you then.” Apparently, she’ll spend 50 cents on a book (our profits fund mission projects), but not $1!
A young woman comes down the hall pulling a red canvas wagon holding two toddlers. A 4-year-old in a sundress trudges beside her, gripping the side of the wagon for dear life. Their expressions are grim, as if they’re entering treacherous waters. I hear, “Stay close. Don’t touch. Don’t beg.” Twenty minutes later, they roll back my way, each child clutching a Cabbage Patch doll, grinning like it’s their birthday. Mom’s holding holiday dish towels, wearing the widest smile of all.
Packing up at noon on the last day, I pick up a 7.5 ounce plastic jar of Vaseline marked “Vintage, $8.” I guess it didn’t sell. It’ll probably be in next year’s sale!
Healing from sexual abuse or rape is no joke. It’s hard work. Trauma-informed therapy and support groups are extremely effective. You are not alone. The abuse was not your fault. You are resilient and deserve a great life.
And sometimes Reader’s Digest gets it right: laughter is the best medicine!
(Please consider reading The Power of Self-Forgiveness For Sexual Assault Survivors; Finding Your Strength: Effective Therapies for Incest Survivors; and Support Groups for Incest Survivors.)
