My estate sale cohort and I grabbed the paper on Friday and took off for a sale at an 8,000 square foot home on Bearpath, the extremely exclusive gated community built around a Jack Nicklaus designed golf course in Eden Prairie.
My Mom and I have rules regarding estate sales; we never go on the first day, we never wait in line or take numbers and we always drive past the front door just in case a parking spot opens up.
Naturally, these rules are flexible but we stick to them for the most part.
So when we got to Bearpath and the armed guard at the gate house told us we couldn't go in, it stands to reason that we would have driven off, never to darken their door again.
You could be forgiven for assuming as much but that's not exactly what happened.
The guard, who may or may not have been armed; we didn't test his resolve by blasting through the lowered gate, told us that only ten cars at a time were being allowed into the community.
WTF?
Who ever heard of an estate sale with
A. an armed guard
B. a limit on cars.
????????
It got even better.
When my mom, who has gotten quite belligerent in her old age, showed an inclination to argue with the uniformed guard, we were told to speak to the lovely young lady with a clip board who was apparently in charge of the sale.
The young lady came over to the car and told us that the only way we could get past the gate and into the sale was to make an appointment.
I repeat, WTF????
This is the point where we would drive off in a cloud of smoke and indignation.
But that's not exactly what happened.
On being told that we could only get inside with an appointment, my mom and I started laughing and decided individually that no force in the verse could keep us out of that thar estate sale.
The lovely youngster with the clip board assured us that with an appointment, they had to let us in.
"I have a few slots left this afternoon," she said, checking her list. "Or you could come back at 10, 11, or 1 tomorrow afternoon. We can only allow ten cars in but you can stuff your car with 700 people and they have to let you in."
We made and appointment for 11 Saturday morning and drove away, laughing our asses off.
We were sure that if we'd been driving my Mom's mini van instead of my fancy pants Audi, they wouldn't have given us an appointment.
The rest of the afternoon was spent trying to find our way back to the highway to go to the second sale on our list. The problem was I was driving and Mom was giving direction. Here's how she directs;
"Oh, that was the turn."
"No, I meant right, not left."
"I did mention 212, you weren't listening."
Of course I wasn't listening. I stopped listening after the second time she said "Yeah, you were supposed to turn, back there."
We had a blast.
Saturday, joined by my daughter, Katie, who is busy furnishing her new, lovely duplex apartment, we headed back to Bearpath to fulfill our appointment to root through the closets and cupboards of an 8,000 sq ft mansion behind the locked gate and security guard.
But that's not exactly what happened.
The three of us were so excited! We had come in Mom's mini van this time, to fill with the treasures we were sure we would find; Katie needs furniture!
We drove confidently up to the gate and the uniformed guard came out to ask us our badness.
"We're here for the estate sale," my Mom said, daring the guy to try and stop us from getting in, "WE HAVE AN APPOINTMENT."
"I'm sorry," the fellow said, putting his hand on the weapon at his hip (maybe. he could have. I couldn't really see below his waist. For the sake of accuracy, we'll say he had a Glock.) "Due to problems with the sale, they had to shut it down."
All together now; WTF?!?!?!!!
"Do you mean to tell me that we came all the way back out here and you're not going to let us in?" my Mom said quietly, in a voice her children have only heard her use when we'd been brought home by the police. (she never used that tone with me; it was always Margy. The cops were always bringing Margy home.)
If the uniformed guard, who at this point, was joined by his backup, weapon drawn (maybe. I didn't pay much attention to the second guy. Seriously, Bearpath, you need two guards to keep the riff raf out of your stupid neighborhood? Really???) said "Yes Ma'am. Sorry about that."
That's when Mom, Katie and I turned around and drove off into the sunset, never to darken their door again, laughing so hard I can't believe we didn't crash.
We spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out what sort of problems could cause an estate sale to be shut down. We think the neighbors must have complained.
I'll bet they called an emergency neighborhood meeting Friday night to discuss the horror of finding mini vans that weren't even hybrids cruising up and down the estate's streets and poor folks looking in their windows.
The thought crossed our minds that they had refused us entry only because we were in Mom's old van instead of my fancy limo.
At the next sale, Katie bought two wooden chairs and a set of low balls, which permitted us to put the heartbreak of Bearpath behind us.
