Confessions of a Thrift Store Employee
The smell of stale clothing fills my nostrils as unusually slow fan blades cut through the musty air. They offer no relief. Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” can be heard for the tenth time as I enter the second hour of my shift. Mercy. My boss motions for me to go over to him as yesterday’s drop-offs need to be sorted. I can’t help but wonder what goodies I’ll discover today as an employee of the thrift store.
I dig my hands into a large box that says “Danny,” and the first item I pull out is a large deflated banana. It has a nasty Band-Aid on it where it failed to cover a hole in the side. Fascinating. I plunge into the once soggy, now warped box and discover something much harder — a cracked mirror. My eyes quickly go to the message in red on the top right corner. “Danny, Danny. You know who’s the fairest of them all. None other than Danny’s fanny.” Holy schnikes, the last items in the box are a very used pair of green Nikes that still have that classic smell- the scent of marathon runner. Love this job.
Moving on to the next box, I unleash a very used cook book that reads, “Terry’s Family CookBook.” As I skim through it, I discover very unique recipes, such as “Raccoon Ribs,” “Grasshopper Pleasure,” and “Chimney Covered Cherries.” Delicious. Underneath the intriguing cookbook is a very used magazine titled, “101 Spachellas To Drive A Chef Wild.” The magazine is full of spatulas of all shapes, colors, and sizes. Some are laid out on a beach, while others are posing next to a snow peaked mountain. Sexy.
I suddenly spy a black plastic container with the lid attached. As I begin to open it, I can’t help but wonder about the buried prizes I will uncover. I’m greeted by an overpowering stench of mold that tickles my nose hairs and causes temporary blindness. This is going to be good. As my cloudy eyes regain consciousness, I discover something better than the Lost Ark. A gently used retro green T-shirt that lays folded in all its glory. On the front, in white letters it reads, “Make 7.” And on the back, also in white, it reads, “Up Yours.” I suddenly feel like I could use a cold refreshing Sprite or Sierra Mist to quench my thirst. What a rush. I just know this t-shirt will make some paying customer very happy.
Before I can open another time capsule of junk, I’m summoned by my boss to the used underwear aisle. Groovy. He’s training me to become a professional used unmentionables sales manager for the night shift. If Mom could see me now, I’d sell her so many pairs, along with that enormous sombrero that has been sitting on the shelf since 2010.
Thrift stores truly are the gems of discarded filth. Donate to your favorite thrift store today. Let your trash become someone’s treasure. Be sure to wash anything before tasting it, including that Halloween mask from 1978. You don’t want to know how many faces have been up in that.
