Priced To Sell
When I was seven years old, my grandpa bought me a Dustbuster at a garage sale. He used to come visit on Saturdays and the two of us would go out hunting for good sales. He had a talent for locating garage sales that was unrivaled. On that particular Saturday, we had already breezed through a few underwhelming sales, when Grandpa found the winner. He always got excited about a sale on a cul-de-sac, and this one did not disappoint.
Grandpa found some great old pocketknives, a t-shirt that read, “Maybe Next Time,” and some golf balls still in their original packaging. He hadn’t played golf in 15 years, but the price was too good to pass up. I had spent my allowance at the arcade that week, which I regretted as I wandered through the merchandise.
When I first saw the Dustbuster, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was for, but it looked great and it was priced to sell. As Grandpa was wheeling-and-dealing for some garden tools, I stood there gazing at it. I protectively stood over it or picked it up any time someone came near, to keep them from taking too much interest. When Grandpa found me holding it like a loaf of bread, he reassured me that the Dustbuster was the premier portable vacuum cleaner on the market. I explained my financial predicament and luckily, Grandpa agreed that it would be a shame to walk away from such a great deal. He offered to buy it for me, provided I would dust bust his car and my mom’s Astro van every weekend for six weeks. I couldn’t wait.
As soon as we got home, I studied the faded instruction manual and watched the clock as the Dustbuster slowly charged. Grandpa had to leave before it was ready, so I thanked him profusely and promised to start working on his car first thing the next Saturday. It became a tradition that continued until Grandpa needed a warmer climate and moved to Tucson.
Buying used Dustbusters became a serious hobby for me. I managed to buy several more at garage sales with Grandpa, but after he moved, I started to find them on eBay. At the peak of my collecting, I was sure I had more than anyone in the tri-state area. I had every color, generation, and special edition on the market. I even traded for rare editions and shared the hobby with other enthusiasts in a Facebook group called “Dustbuster Life.”
When Grandpa died, I was heartbroken, but I knew what I had to do. I went to the storage room, found that first Dustbuster that Grandpa bought me, and begged Mom and Dad to let me have a small bag of his ashes. When I began to plan the garage sale, the only thing I was certain of was that the Dustbuster would be priced to sell.
- Written for “Dustbuster Life”