You Can’t Take it With You

I’ve been a deal-makin’ SOB lately. I don’t know if it’s the change in weather, or if advertising is suddenly a better idea, but clients are buying, and they’re buying from me. They call us “marketing specialists,” but we’re essentially just hustlers. We wheel and deal, finagle and finesse, up-sell and up the ante.

Sometimes I get in this mood. I look at the things I own and I think, “I’m living in a freaking goldmine, and I don’t even use half of this shit.” These moods usually strike when I’m in the middle of an important project, but I would rather sort through all of my possessions and figure out what I can sell.

I look around my apartment with an appraiser’s eye. “I bet I could get $65 for that table.” Baskets? Lamps? $25. I thumb through my bookshelf, “Five, ten, fifteen…” Unworn shoes, untouched lights, unused, unnecessary, and under attack. If it hasn’t been a staple of my life in the past three months, or if I can say the words, “Whoa, I forgot I had this,” it goes.  There I stand, in an empty apartment, cash in hand, booze on the brain.

“Cass, where’s that poker set we bought you?” I believe I spent it on whiskey at the lesbian bar. Ahem. People put so much stock in gifts, in stuff, but I think of it like this: If I can’t drink it or wear it, I don’t want to carry it.

In my life, I have moved 21 times. That’s true. I just made a list on a post-it. I’m only 22 years old. Do the math. I no longer look at the things I own as necessary. “But Cassie, you need a shower curtain.” Yeah? Do I? Those things are heavier than they look, let me tell ya.

Seriously. People don’t talk to me anymore because they know I’m going to ask for their help moving furniture. The bitches at Plato’s closet roll their eyes when I walk in. “Ugh, it’s the closet-cleaner.”

I’ve made $70 in the past week just from my old crap. I sold a lamp, a couple pairs of shoes, a coat, and a few old cell phones.

Resources for some one who wants to get paid for the clutter: (Thanks, Z)—They’ll buy your old electronics, and pay to ship them.—they’ll buy your textbooks, and again, pay to ship them.—sell your things privately, Amazon picks up the shipping.—Creepy, but lucrative and fast. Meet in public, and don’t accept checks.
Plato’s Closet—dress nicely when you walk in. These bitches are prissy, but they buy your gently used clothing if they deem you ‘worthy’.

This weekend: Gambling my earnings. Wish me luck!

“I asked him when I could get my stuff and he said he already has it packed.”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s