Do you have the temperament to hold a garage sale?

It’s been 2½ years since my father died, but you wouldn’t know it from the condition of the garage at his — now my — house on Long Island.

My friend Tom saw it recently and was shocked.

“You still have all this stuff,” he asked, referring to the stacks of housewares, lamps and assorted other items that have been piled up in there since January 2020.

We were still in lockdown when Dad died, and disposing of all this stuff was a challenge. I made 17 trips to AMVETS with boxed donations but couldn’t go inside. Someone came to the back door to formally accept them.

Habitat for Humanity took the better furniture, but it was weeks before they were able to come and get it.

(First, I had to send them a letter with photos of each piece. Then, about a month later, I received a text: “Congratulations! Your donation has been accepted!”)

Friends and relatives took a few things. And everything else … Well, it’s still in the garage.

During that time, I’ve pondered my options: Sell the Long Island house and go back to living full time at my house in New Jersey. Sell the house in Jersey and live full time on the island. Sell both houses and move … somewhere. I could go to upstate New York, or down the shore, or, to borrow a line from Samuel L. Jackson, “walk the earth like Caine in ‘Kung Fu.’”

Tom was adamant: “What you have to do next should be obvious. Have a garage sale. You’ve already donated thousands of dollars worth of stuff. Why not make some money on these things?”

“I don’t think so,” I replied.

But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “It’s almost September,” he said. “That’s a prime month for garage sales. I could help you. We could put tags on things and …”

“No, no, no,” I said. “I can’t do this. I’ve found a lot of nice things going to garage sales. But hosting my own? I don’t have the temperament for it.”

The closest I’ve ever come to having a garage sale was taking part in a group sale at my friend Mark’s house four years ago. Five other friends also took part. He put signs up, we all chipped in for a few gallons of cider, and by 9 a.m. his entire block was swarming with prospective shoppers.

I was the oldest (and worldliest) of the sellers. And, since I’m also charming and adorable, I assumed I would sell the most items.

Things certainly started out that way. Forty-five minutes into the sale, I had already made $24.

What would I do with all this cash? Go out for a fancy dinner? Buy a yacht?

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After the first hour, though, things went south. Quickly. And it soon became apparent that although I was once adorable and charming, I am now a nasty, miserable old coot with no patience whatsoever.

“This espresso set isn’t worth $15,” a woman said to me. “I’ll give you $10 for it.”

“Actually,” I replied, “it’s worth $115 and it’s never been used. If you want a bargain, go to Kohl’s.”

A much younger woman picked up one of my unwanted knickknacks that had a $2 tag on it.

“I’d love to have this,” she said, sweetly. “Do you accept Venmo?”

I didn’t know what she was talking about.

“Venmo,” she said, again. “It’s a mobile payment service.”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I went with: “Yeah. Well, no. I don’t do that. And, it’s only $2. So…”

“Oh, I never carry cash anymore,” she said. “Sorry. I’m afraid that’s how my generation is.”

I scrunched up my face, pried the knickknack from her sweaty little fingers and told her to scram.

(Sorry. I’m afraid that’s how my generation is.)

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And then there was the man who was looking through my beloved VHS tapes, which I was selling for a paltry $1 each. (I had already replaced all of them on DVD.)

“This is a good one,” I said, holding up the Nicolas Cage flick “Red Rock West.”

He said he’d never heard of it. I said, “Trust me, it’s really good.”

He said he didn’t like Cage movies. I said, “I promise you will like this one.”

He said, “That’s too much money for a VHS tape. No one watches them anymore.”

I yelled, “It’s a great movie! Take it for 50 cents!”

So he picked up the tape and handed me … a quarter?

“That’s all I’m paying,” he said.

At this point, I exploded, grabbed the tape from him and ORDERED him to vacate the premises.

“GET OUT! OUT!”

Other customers ran away screaming. Mark and the other sellers looked at me in horror. It was like a Godzilla movie.

“You don’t have the temperament for this,” Mark told me later.

Fine with me.

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Garage sales are tricky. Ervolino finds that temperament is everything