Now how could a garage sale end up with a Healey story? Here's how. We had
a two-family garage sale (if this is an unfamiliar idiom, it means to pile all
your junk outside your house and try to sell it) to try to make it possible
for me to walk to my workbench without doing a tap dance around all the stuff
that had gathered. That meant the junk moved to the driveway and we sat in
the garage in 94 degree F heat and 90% humidity while strange people wandered
up and down the driveway, scoffing at our fine offerings. We were drinking
Dr. Pepper and Diet Pepsi only; we were all business. I successfully sold a
$700 treadmill for $25. I actually did a little dance, a tarantella as I now
recall, in the driveway as the guy drove away, the most exercise I'd ever
gotten out of the damn thing.
Of course the garage door was open and the nice cherry dining room set that
never sold was in there next to the Healey. Now, I leave as an exercise to
the group what the percentage of males was who went in to look at the hutch
and dining table, saw the Healey and actually told me personally that they
"used to own one of those little cars".
You might be surprised to hear, as a point of comparison, that fully < of the
women who walked in had owned one in their youths. Ok, I gave you enough time
to guess, it was 5 out of 15 of the men. There just had to be a secret
factory turning these things out in Model T quantities somewhere we're unaware
of. I hereby charge the concours committee to seek out and expose this
fraudulent source of Healeys. BJ8's really ought to be as available as
Beetles.
The Healey attracted a lot of attention and compliments, the same we all have
heard when driving about. One particularly expansive fellow claimed to have
an "in" with the Miss America Pageant Committee and said he could have me
driving one of the contestants in the parade in Atlantic City this fall. I
said I would not let her sit on my folded convertible top as I did not want
her to get horizontal creases on her buns for the swimming suit competition.
Of course I was really worried about bending my bows. Now that I think of it
I -could- just take the whole thing out and install a little seat back there
and pray for sunshine. Of course her chaperone must be in the passenger seat
otherwise I could pull that out too and give her a Lazy Boy to sit in. Well,
I can dream.
Three people asked if they could buy our standard poodle. She's got an
unfortunate genetic thing that deprived her of about 90% of her hair at age
two. She is a wonderful pet and, as the vet says, she's not aware that she
no longer looks like much like a poodle, so I was surprised to have any
bidders at all. However, fully = the people that wandered into the garage
asked if the Healey was for sale. Of course, I said yes. Then it was, "What
are you asking for it?" In each case I replied, "A large shopping basket
chock full of hundred dollar bills." No takers. Maybe they were looking for
a bargain. One of them asked if it was a TR7. Yes, the wedge. Is there any
other British sports car that looks less like a Healey? Few.
Remaining in possession of poor little Chimera,
Bill Moyer, BJ7
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