A Shell

About a month ago, I started selling some of the extra stuff I had that I didn't think I would need in the new house. I was not all that into it, since I figured the salvage company would take a lot of what we had. One Saturday, while taking down my garage door for a couple from Torrance, a wild guy with cowboy boots shows up and starts looking around.

"Anything in particular you want?" I said. "It's all going."

"I don't want anything," he said. "Nothing. Zilch. It's all going down."

"Great", I thought. There's some crazy guy in my backyard looking around like he's planning an ambush.

It was only a couple of minutes later that I realized he was my demolition guy doing a pre-walk-through of the house.

"You don't want anything?"

"No. I'm coming in and leveling this place. 20 minutes and it's a pancake."

I felt really bad. Not only was it a waste of good stuff, but I was paying this crazy man with a bulldozer to dump it.

It was time to sell hard.

Over the past 3 weeks, I have moved more product than WalMart. People from Craigslist have taken just about everything possible -- doors, floors, windows and sinks. All that's left of my house are walls (with holes from random sledgehammer strikes) some concrete, a wonderful spray-painted Homer Simpson by Brady, and a roof.

We've made some good money doing this, but more than that, I feel good that our stuff is going to become a part of other people's homes. The chart above shows where the various pieces of our house have gone.

Wednesday, the bulldozers come and take what's left away. Boy, will they have a short day.