Ok so here it is

The shiny new van pulled up and I smiled. Our first customers. The doors opened slowly and two elderly gentlemen, wearing berets in the bright summer sunshine, ambled out of the car and made there way slowly towards our garage, throughout which we had carefully and enthusiastically laid out all the out of favour goods my family and I had accumulated over the course of 30 years. It was mostly junk mind you, but the best kind of junk. Sentimental junk. And while we were happy to get rid of it, each sale came with a twinge of sadness - yes, we are pack-rats of the worst kind, we like our junk.

So after days of planning we were finally ready. As the first gent approached I smiled widely and said "Good morning! How are ya?". The reply, a soft and grumbly "good morning" which betrayed their old country roots. Russia, Poland, Hungary. If pressed I would pick Hungary. The two gents ignored my dad's smiling greeting and headed towards the back of the garage as if on a mission, bypassing the "glamour" goods we had strategically placed in front.

One man stopped by a case of old jewelry and picked up a piece of costume jewelry, a necklace, examining it closely. My dad approached, and after the long session we spent educating him on the intricacies of garage-sale-selling (his first pricing instincts were optimistically but unrealistically high), was ready to get rid of the merchandise for very little profit.

"How much?" the man ventured.
"$3" came the response, with a wide smile, offering this "precious" piece for a pittance.
"$3????" said the man, heavily accented, as if we had just asked him for the left nut of his first born son. A look of disgust.

My dad, obviously a little disappointed with the reaction, asked the man what he would offer.
"25c is a good price for this", and glanced at his shopping partner for confirmation, which he got with a curt nod.
"OK, for you $1", was my father's last attempt, still amenable.
The man threw down the necklace without a word and continued rummaging. I could scarcely believe this man. 25c? 25c?? Fuck it, he doesn't deserve it I thought.

His bargain-basement-hunting partner picked up a solid wooden jewelry box, new, straight out of the box. After another careful evaluation, he said, "price?"
My dad, now slightly flustered (we were not attempting to recreate a Middle Eastern bazaar) and trying deliberately to under-price said "$5", for an item that was probably worth $25.
The man might has well have been spat at such was the look of contempt that passed across his face.
"$5? Crazy. Just crazy."

I didn't know whether to laugh or escort them off the premises. Fortunately I didn't need to - after hearing our extortionate pricing scheme, they left in a huff, stopping to issue a parting shot:
"Good luck with your sale!", the man hissed, heavy with sarcasm.

I was left bewildered at the lack of grace and manners displayed not only by these two but by countless people. This scene would replay itself over the next 2 days, as women in Mercedes arrived smiling only to walk away from a $2 bag because they wanted to pay $1.50. We made a couple hundred dollars but lost some respect for humanity along the way.