Thack You: Another bad estate sale experience

Larry Thack has a U2 song stuck in his head and is searching for pills and razors

I love attending Estate Sales! It has become the denouement of my acquaintanceship with many villagers that includes wake, funeral, Estate Sale. It is a proper way to spy on how my friends lived and what sorts of bauble they failed to discard before the end came. It is also an opportunity to wear my top hat, sport my brass cane with the goat’s head handle, and stroll through the dead man’s house virtually proclaiming, “I have won.”
I shall have my choice now of all your meager possessions at pennies on the farthing. Or perhaps I’ll just wander through the house insulting your tastes, speaking to myself in a most audible and disgusted tone. I shall bring a breakfast biscuit and spill crumbs on your threadbare rugs. I will empty my cold coffee in your houseplants. I will ask to use the bathroom. I will inquire about things clearly not for sale. I will be there for a while.
Upon returning to my tasteful home, I open my sack of purchases and spread on a table under a 40-watt bulb that sways from its cord barely illuminating my newest treasures. I have procured the man’s silverware set! But what is this? My adequate lighting reveals that I’ve been duped! This be not silverware, but dreaded orphanware – the lowest form of all flatware. It turns green and sticky when put in a dishwasher and possesses a poisonous taste. I prefer plastic sporks to this stamped pot metal! Furious, I punch the crown out of my top hat and storm out the door to settle this. Orphanware! For a man of my stature? I have paid my respects, now I want a refund.

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