()re-run)
Today, as I entered the Good Will in Monterey, California, I was glad to see it mostly empty because of the rain and wind. But there were several teen girls and even a young guy shopping for clothing. That’s right, spring break. When I as a teen shopping in thrift stores, I got lots of weird looks from the other shoppers, older people looking to stretch a dollar. Today’s young people shop second-hand to save the planet so they’ll have somewhere to live when today’s seniors are dead and gone.
Thrift stores rock. You can get things at a fraction of the price of a new item, plus there’s no packaging to clog up the landfills. Also, you’re recycling things or upcycling them into new things. Plus, you’re giving jobs to the Good Will clerks. And you’re having fun and getting something unique.
The problem with some thrift stores is that the clerks are volunteers, volunteers who aren’t always paying attention and often ring up the wrong prices or are careless when packing up my curated items. I hate to be that person who has to correct the woman who saw two differently-priced tea cups and charged me the higher price twice, assuming they’d be the same.
Or the woman who promised one price and rang up another, something I discovered at home since I’d bought so much at once. I could march back there, but it’s not worth it. My time is worth more than that. My good mood is, also. I did return a faulty Keurig for a girlfriend who doesn’t get down here much and got store credit. I gave her $50 back and used up the credit.
Then there was the grumpy manager today who didn’t want me putting my twenty-one plates on the counter while I continued shopping. She wanted me to put them in a basket, but hey, I’m a senior citizen, I can’t cart around 21 plates. That’s way too heavy for my bad back (the plates were super discounted). Then, when I paid for them five minutes later, she offered me a box, and I told her I wouldn’t be able to carry it all in one trip and I’d have to make two trips since my parking spot was up a hill in the spot furthest from the thrift store. I’d circled around twice before I could get any spot at all. She filled the box with half the stuff, and I had the other half in my arms. Then she demanded that I get the box off the counter and put it somewhere else.
I was not able to do that since my arms were full, so she recruited a worker dude named Carlos to carry the box out to my car. He was jovial and shook my hand at the end. I should’ve tipped him, but we senior citizens sometimes are a half-step behind, and he didn’t wait around long enough for me to do it.
Next time, Carlos! You saved my bad back today. And I got 26 dishes for that many dollars, because of the 20% off coupon and the wisdom discount (old lady discount). Dishes are my side hustle so I can keep my beach house and pay those gosh-darned property taxes twice a year.
Here’s to thrifting!
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 