I had some time to kill today so I decided to go thrift store shopping something I havent done in a quite a long time. There are only two kinds of items I will buy at thrift stores: records and ashtrays. Thanks in large part to a phobia given to me by my mother, I refuse to buy or wear used clothes. I know that this makes no logical sense but deep inside I am convinced that used clothes have a taint that cannot be removed by repeated bleachings or boilings let alone a cycle through the washing machine. Similarly I wont buy used dishes or cooking items. Given that I use dishes at restaurants without a second thought, my unwillingness to purchase these items used is even more illogical. Nonetheless the sight of a used frying pan at the thrift store gives me images of a mad man preparing a poisoned rat and fecal matter stew before dumping said pan into the donation bin. Again this seems unlikely but why take unnecessary chances? But I digress. I had expected to find the obligatory Barry Manilow (I remain convinced that he is Satans second in command), Herb Alpert, long forgotten family gospel groups, and polka records. I especially love the gospel and polka records if only to torment Elizabeth SouthwestMs. The other great thing about the old family gospel records is that they always feature a portrait of the family awkwardly dressed in coordinating outfits with forced smiles. I inevitably play a game of where are they now? with the family members. My version of the game inevitably includes the poofy haired son becoming a deadbeat dad and the innocent daughter turning tricks on a street corner to support a drug habit. These issues are mine of course, but the juxtaposition amuses me all the same. Unfortunately fate and an endless series of ill-fated life choices had led me to the one thrift store in the entire Western hemisphere that had neither old records nor ashtrays on its shelves though I did find a CD from an old indy rock band that seemed worth the two dollar price tag. I soon regretted this decision as I was five people deep in a line of people with nothing but time to kill chit chatting with the clerk. Worse still, the person in front of me was there to return an item. It would never have occurred to me that one could (or would) return a thrift store purchase. Apparently my imagination is lacking. I was finally able to make my purchase and leave, nay escape, the thrift store and I learned two lessons I hope to retain. First the ratio of womens to mens clothes is approximately 8 to 1. Second and more important is that should I ever have the opportunity to meet Macklemore I will punch him in the balls just because.
Posted on: Thu, 04 Dec 2014 06:34:29 +0000
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