WIll you take less?

There had to be six or seven dozen more hangers to detag, mark down 50% off, and then count, recount, and make sure the amount of tags matched the amount of items this buyer was purchasing. It could have been a very monotonous task, but there were so many people in line behind this woman, and so much work to do for each sale, that instead of getting bored, I considered just pulling the tags off instead of taking off the safety pins - one by one by one - my fingers were started to bleed, and I just kept moving, grooving, and making jokes.

Some people laughed and would start helping out, but most people during the last two hours of the church consignment sale were there only to get a bargain - not to make a new friend. They were especially not there to help out and actually take some tags off the new-to-them items. Arms limp, like cooked noodles, staring off into space as if I was some peon not even worth their time, I'd haul their wares out of their bags, off strollers, and out of boxes.

At some point I did a full sniff check of the pits, as I smelled something foul and wanted to make sure it wasn't emanating from me. Nope - someone must have been rethinking that chimichanga for lunch or something. Anyways, I started detagging her items and realized she had a triple stroller and two preschoolers hanging off of her every limb.

I said, "Well it's a good thing you don't have your hands full!"

Not even a smile. Quickening my pace I asked her if she understood that any tags written in red wouldn't be marked down, all other tags were half-off.

"Oh. Then I don't want them," she said, not even looking in my direction. Now, this could mean a few things. Like, I don't want any of the red tags, the whole lot of at least 200 items you have now taken off no less than three safety pins, one tag, and a hanger off each item, or the five kids that were making her prematurely gray. I tried to clarify, but she just reprimanded her oldest and stared straight ahead.

"Ma'am. Do you want any of these items?"

"Yes. The half-off ones."

There was a line of over 30 people with equally large purchases waiting for the two of us volunteers to help them get through the line. I hadn't eaten breakfast, had bleeding fingers from multiple safety pin pokes, and now I was to go through the descriptions of each of the 200 labels to determine which clothes I'd have to put back and then find those actual clothes to rehang.

"I'm really sorry, but I'm going to need your help. You see this line of people I have to help? I cannot go through this without you! Someone was supposed to give you a heads up about the half-off in any color but red," I said, thinking about the fifteen minute intercom blasts explaining so much, all the sign-age, and the greeter at the entrance telling each person entering about the 50% off sale.

"Oh. I heard. I'll just pay half of the total bill. Do it all the time."

Now I was dazed and confused.

"This is a church fundraiser. Individual sellers set the price and determine if it's half-off or not, and what their price is. We cannot, in any capacity, change the worth of an item. It's what is listed, half-off, and nothing is debatable, not like a garage sale."

"I'll take all the half offs, and pay half of that. Final offer."

"We cannot barter. It's the price is the price the sellers set."

"Well, I'll give you 30%."

Now the customers were getting irritated and restless.

"It truly isn't that simple. Whatever we add it up to, that's what you'll pay. You can go through and pick the items from there, but you'll have to sort the tags and items at that point."

It just kept going. I finally offered to start helping other customers as she bartered about bartering. All the while the three in the stroller were howling, the older two were playing hopscotch through the line, and I was seriously hoping my deoderant was holding up to this stress level.

I then realized that maybe she just couldn't afford to clothe her kids. She wasn't being rude. She really had little money to get them clothes and even at consignment prices at half-off they needed a discount. We were in a church, for God's sake! I needed to help this woman instead of wish her out of my sight!

"You know what? I know what it's like to have your hands full and lots of people to care for! In a half-hour all this stuff will be boxed up and picked up by the Family Thrift on 3rd. If you go there tomorrow or early next week, I'm sure it'll all be there at even lower prices," proud of myself for spilling the beans as to where the items were going, and knowing even if this church wasn't about to make money from this sale, it would be goodwill and charity, and God would happy.

"Are you serious? You think I need charity?" she sputtered as she laughed in my face. Before I could even back peddle out of this one, she marched the six of them out of the sanctuary and into the parking lot in a furious fit.

Someone in the middle of the line applauded and I wasn't sure what to do with the 200 plus items on the rack in front of me. So, I cleared them off, laid them in piles on the ground, and started helping the next customer.

"You have GOT TO BE KIDDING!" shouted the customer who had detagged, desafety pinned, and neatly handed a stack of tags to me.

I looked in the same direction to see the previous customer loading the kids into a pimped out Escalade... parked in the handicapped space.