Just rummaging around my drawers, I might come up with a dozen artifacts I could pawn off to gullible buyers for a tidy sum. I'm talking about dust-collectors. Being a pack rat, I need to downsize my clutter.
I could either deposit it into a receptacle or try my luck on eBay. It wasn't until I had donated a batch of 33 RPM records to the library for its book sale that a cousin broke the shattering news.
"You crazy, cuz? You gave away a fortune. I posted my used records on eBay and made $5,000. You have no idea what those things are worth."
No, I do not. I'm not in the market. For one thing, I am not into eBay or any other such websites that can drive me delirious. Others swear by them. Not me. I wouldn't know where to start, what to command or where to deliver.
As an enterprising teen, I was a mad collector. You name it, I had it. Don't ask me what happened to my baseball card collection. It just disappeared. Or my classic comic book collection. I had every one of them. In an effort to clean house, my mother dispensed with the lot.
Had I preserved them to this day, I would have been a rich man. I was in a comic book store recently and priced one of those editions. It was in the hundreds.
For all I know, I may have owned an original Superman first edition. Would have bought me a nice home in the tropics had I been more perceptive.
As a numismatic, I have a tidy collection of American coins kept in designated folders. My mother left me a small stack of $2 bills freshly minted. Off I went to the bank to see what they would bring and I keeled over in dismay.