Six months of furniture flipping: profit by piece

A woman I didn't recognize came through my line at the pharmacy last week, waited while I rang up her refill, and then said, "You're the one who sold me that oak table." I said I was. She told me her family eats supper at it every night and her husband built a bench to go along one side. I said that was wonderful, and I meant it. I also thought about that table for the rest of my shift.

I started flipping furniture in October, so it's been about six months. This week I sat down with the sheet and added up every piece through the end of February: what I paid, what I spent on supplies, what it sold for and how many hours it took.

Every piece

Nine pieces, $640 of profit, 76 hours. That's $8.42 an hour.

One thing the table leaves out: in January I bought my own used orbital sander for $85, so Tyler could have his back. If I count that, the real rate drops to $7.30 an hour. I'd rather know that number than pretend I don't.

When I sort by profit per hour, the answer is pretty clear. The cedar chest paid $15 an hour and the coffee table paid $15.20. Both were solid wood that mostly needed cleaning, light sanding and either oil or one coat of paint. The nightstands and the oak table paid about $12. The pieces that needed real repair work paid the least, even when the sale price looked good.

The two flops

The bookshelf looked like wood in the listing photo. It was particle board with a wood-look skin, and the first time I sanded through a corner, it started to puff up like a wet cracker. Nobody wanted it, and I didn't blame them. I finally sold it for $20 just to get my carport back. I lost $6 and four hours.

The vanity hurt more. I paid $60 for it in January because it was beautiful, with a curved front and an attached mirror. The curved front turned out to be thin veneer, and it chipped the minute I touched it with the sander. I spent eleven hours patching and painting, listed it at $150, and sat with it for three weeks. It sold for $70. That's a $32 loss, on top of eleven hours of work I basically paid to do.

The lesson from both is the same. I bought them with my heart instead of my eyes. Now I flip every piece over, pull every drawer and look hard at the edges before I hand anybody money. If it's particle board or thin veneer, I say thank you and leave.

The table I should have kept

The oak table was the best flip I've done. A family on the north side of town sold it to me for $40 because it wobbled and they'd bought a new set. I tightened the legs, sanded the top, put on three coats of finish and did the leaf to match. It sold in two days for $260, and the $184 of profit is the most I've made on anything.

Meanwhile, Tyler and I eat at a hand-me-down table from my parents that rocks if you lean on the left corner. When we buy a house, we'll need a table. Tyler says we can find another one when we have a dining room to put it in. He's right. I'm still a little sad about it every time our table rocks.

So the plan for the next six months is fewer pieces, simpler pieces and real wood only. Yard sale season is coming, and I'd rather do one good $15-an-hour piece a month than three that eat my weekends. The porch garden is about to start taking my Saturdays too.

The money rules haven't changed much. The cost of each piece goes back into the flip envelope in the kitchen drawer, so the next one pays for itself. Since January, a quarter of each piece's profit goes to the tax bucket first, which is a lesson my first tax season with flips taught me the hard way. The rest goes on the Extra tab and then to the house fund.

And if I ever find another oak table for $40, I'm going to look at it for a long time before I list it.