photo by misocrazy
Are you a haggler? I was never very good at haggling before I sold merchandise at flea markets. I was embarrassed to ask for a lower price on items at garage sales, secondhand stores and even flea markets. I accepted the price for whatever it was marked. I was introduced to reselling items at the flea market by a close friend who had been selling used items and collectibles for years. He asked me to help out one weekend, and I did. I had visited flea markets as a buyer, but I’d never had the seller’s perspective. In time, I enjoyed helping so much that I began selling items, too. Eventually, we decided to split the cost of a spot at the flea market each Sunday.

My friend taught me to mark all merchandise for higher than what I was willing to accept. He told me not to turn down any reasonable offer. I had a little trouble in this area. Whenever someone would offer an amount that was less, I wasn’t sure how much less I could accept without feeling they were crazy for asking. I remember I had a vintage crystal pedestal punch bowl for sale. I would have taken $40 for it. That was a steal. I had had it appraised, and it was worth $300. I had a woman offer me $5, and I wasn’t sure how to react without showing how insulted I was. I wanted to say, “Well, for you, it’s $100, so, no, $5, isn’t enough.” I was also a sucker for children and would give away items just to see them smile. I had a little problem with wanting to buy items while I was there, too. It was painful to resist the spot around the bend that was selling perennials and the booth selling homemade fudge. I would do anything to escape the sound of the guy yelling “bonannnna, bonannnna, bonannnna” all day long at the fruit stand across from us. Any excuse to shop, right? At this rate, I was never going to make any money.

I thought I was a genius when I set up a dollar table. All items on the table were only a buck. I pictured my junk flying off the tables faster than I could restock it as people rushed to buy it all. That’s when I encountered a new breed of haggler. These were smooth negotiators. I think they were trained by some secret society of penny pinchers. One woman asked how much an item was. I had a sign that indicated everything on the table was $1. She started to hand me a quarter. I said, “No. It’s $1.” She looked at me as if I was crazy and marched off. She jingled as she walked. She probably had $50 in quarters in her pocket. Then it happened an hour later with another woman. Again, no deal out of me. I started to wonder, if I marked everything for 25 cents, would these hagglers offer me a penny or possibly a buck for the entire table?

As the day was winding down, I stared at all the items that I could have sold had I not been so stubborn. I felt lucky that I made enough to cover my rental spot and my food goodies but a bit discouraged at how hard it was to unpack, set up the canopy, set up tables, create displays and then, eight hours later, break it all down and pack the truck. That’s when a man stopped by and asked how much the punch bowl was. I told him $50 out of sheer frustration. I was determined to sell it the following week. He bought it. That’s when I fell in love with selling at flea markets. I loved the thrill of never knowing whether my luck would change at any moment.

I haven’t sold at flea markets since having children. It’s a lot of work to keep enough inventory, and my children are young, so I don’t want to take entire days to sell at markets until the kids are older. We do still visit them to shop, though. I love the dollar tables. I bring a purse filled with quarters, and I hum “bonannna, bonannna,” as I head on over to the fudge table.

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