I had not mustered my courage, but I was back at Goodwill a few months later, armed with a list reading "red sweater". Have I mentioned what a large Goodwill this is? It would take up to 3 or more hours if one were to briefly glance at all of the clothing, and have no thought about them at all. Easily 5 or 6 if one was to contemplate buying anything. I usually get through about 5 racks before I em exhausted. My list did not embolden me.
So I prayed, 'O Dear Lord, if I don't find a serviceable red sweater in a half hour, please give me the stamina to leave and not waste my time lolly-gagging. Amen.'
Needless to say, I found a red sweater from New York and Company in about ten minutes. I smirked and, feeling so blessed, I decided to peruse the cassette tapes for new music. I found two: the soundtrack to "Empire of the Sun" (one of the three movies I own) and something from the 80s with a lady in a bright red leather jacket--how could I go wrong? (I have still not listened to the soundtrack, and the other tape was smooth rock of a nature so volatile that I ejected it and did not finish one song.)
The price sign above the cassette tapes said 50 cents.
I had overstayed my half hour by this point, so I hurried up to the register, and froze. One register was open. Oh yes, it was her. The whirring of the oxygen tank seemed to growl at me as I approached, cautiously.
'See me smiling?' I said nothing.
Red sweater. $3.99 RING!
Cassette tape. $1.00 RING!
Had I been moving, I would have stopped immediately. 'Why are you charging me twice the already outrageous amount for a worthless piece of technology?!' "Um..." I started.
The woman froze, mid-ring of the next tape and her head snapped up to stare at me. My stomach crawled up through my esophagus and lodged itself in my throat before I could utter another sound. The white-haired lady blinked, and scanned the next tape.
Cassette tape. $1.00 RING!
She stared at me as she handed over the plastic bag. 'That's for the so-called jacket you bought last time that was clearly a coat, and you still owed me for that dollar. Don't mess with me.'
I praised Jesus for delivering me from that pit alive.
11/25/10
Haggling
Since I do the majority of my shopping at the local Goodwill, I have begun to recognize some of the employees. There's the young inmate with tattoos all over his neck, 27 piercings in his face, and earlobes about one inch in diameter, the woman, mid-age, with dyed brown hair and a visible history of plentiful eating, the small man that limps and glares at everything, and the old lady with short, white hair. When I first saw the older woman she reminded me of my grandmother, and I smiled in her direction every chance I got.
Having successfully chosen my purchases, I joined the queue at the white haired woman's register. 'How sweet you seem, dear old lady, I hope my youthful smile will bring joy into your dull life.'
"Hello! How are you?" I said cheerily. Her portable oxygen tank whirred in reply as she reached for the clothes on the counter. She sent me a scathing glance. I do believe my mouth fell open. A bit of dust fell from the ceiling and settled there. Silently, she rung my purchase.
One shirt. $3.99 RING!
One sweater. $3.99 RING!
"What is this?" Her harsh voice caught me off guard and made me jump. She was holding up a thigh-length, shoulder pad implanted, jacket spangled with large yellow flowers.
"Uh," I fumbled. "A jacket?" 'It's the most beautiful piece of sewn artistry I have ever encountered.'
She frowned and turned it over in her hands. "Is it a jacket? Or is it a coat?" Her eyes pierced mine. "They're different prices you know." Our gazes locked as her retnas burned themselves into my brain to see from which rack I had gotten it.
'I beg of you, do not release your wrath upon me!' I began to sweat. "Oh, well I'm not really sure. I realize it's long, but it is more of a jacket."
She squinted at it.
I dug deep in my gut for my voice. 'You should not charge me that extra dollar, I'm obviously shopping here because I don't have the extra dollar to spend.' "You see the thinness?" I squeaked. My salivary glands had ceased production. "It's not really a coat, I think."
She sniffed. "I suppose." $4.99
I bade her a good day (to which she did not reply) and rushed out the door, panting.
Having successfully chosen my purchases, I joined the queue at the white haired woman's register. 'How sweet you seem, dear old lady, I hope my youthful smile will bring joy into your dull life.'
"Hello! How are you?" I said cheerily. Her portable oxygen tank whirred in reply as she reached for the clothes on the counter. She sent me a scathing glance. I do believe my mouth fell open. A bit of dust fell from the ceiling and settled there. Silently, she rung my purchase.
One shirt. $3.99 RING!
One sweater. $3.99 RING!
"What is this?" Her harsh voice caught me off guard and made me jump. She was holding up a thigh-length, shoulder pad implanted, jacket spangled with large yellow flowers.
"Uh," I fumbled. "A jacket?" 'It's the most beautiful piece of sewn artistry I have ever encountered.'
She frowned and turned it over in her hands. "Is it a jacket? Or is it a coat?" Her eyes pierced mine. "They're different prices you know." Our gazes locked as her retnas burned themselves into my brain to see from which rack I had gotten it.
'I beg of you, do not release your wrath upon me!' I began to sweat. "Oh, well I'm not really sure. I realize it's long, but it is more of a jacket."
She squinted at it.
I dug deep in my gut for my voice. 'You should not charge me that extra dollar, I'm obviously shopping here because I don't have the extra dollar to spend.' "You see the thinness?" I squeaked. My salivary glands had ceased production. "It's not really a coat, I think."
She sniffed. "I suppose." $4.99
I bade her a good day (to which she did not reply) and rushed out the door, panting.
11/24/10
The Original
Today I had a wonderful experience.
(First, there is a new store in the mall located in close proximity to my house. I ventured there one day and sat in a Starbucks parking lot, without buying anything, for about two or three hours. I noticed the store, "Five Below" across the road. So I wondered: five below freezing? Five below the speed limit? Five below the average IQ? Five below the average 5.5? My ruminations became increasingly less charitable, so I drove across the street for exploration.
Second, do you remember your childhood? Think Hard............................... I hope you were Thinking very Hard in that space. I don't remember much about my childhood other than watering the flowers [with a green sippy cup] woven into my bedroom carpet in attempts to make them grow, carving my sibling's name into furniture in attempts to see it punished, rubbing bar soap on the tires of our tractor in attempts to make the tires spin out the next time my father operated it, hiding robins' eggs underneath my bed in attempts to incubate them, and throwing my new kitten off the crows nest of our swing-set in attempts to teach him to fly. Yours is undoubtedly similar.
There is no third. In fact, there was one, but I have forgotten it, and since this is my blog and my mind, you would have never known that there was a third, but I feel that proper justification to this story would not be given if I did not mention that at one point in time there was a third, but now there is not.
Fourth, have you ever cleaned your room and found something truly of value? [I could now attach my philosophy book here with a pretty little brightly colored link so that you would know to CLICK HERE if you wanted to read up on the different meanings of value, but I feel that the most entertainment I would get out of that is seeing how many of you actually clicked.] Yes, well we all have in our own quaint way I'm sure.)
I was completely stressed out (It is a holiday after all. "Holi": from the French, hooligans, and "day": from the German, are going to possess the bodies of your family members who will in turn force you to clean at insane hours of the morning, cook outrageous amounts of food, and watch movies you would not otherwise watch.) so I started cleaning my room. (This is an impressive task; that is all you need to know.) I dug through a few yards of clothing, garbage, cutlery, and homework, only to find a plastic bag from Five Below. I knew there was a DVD in it, so I took that out and threw it onto another pile of art supplies, sweaters, coffee filters, and cassette tapes, but as I was going to throw away the plastic bag, I realized something else was in it.
The catch phrase on the back of the package I found in the bag was: "Nothing else is... (know how to finish it? Of course not, no one remembers a catch phrase that could apply to every object on or off the face of the planet [I could link another philosophical essay here debating on how every item, even if there are "duplicates", has individuality, originality, and meaning in its own way, but you wouldn't fall for that twice, would you?] so don't sweat it.) SILLY PUTTY!"
Oh my blissfully poor memory that forgets the best things only to have them turn up in my hands and fill me with joy for a second time! I recalled instantly how excited I had been to buy the silly putty from Five Below (which I believe was named for the five below 1,567 warning signs about security cameras [I counted: 1,562] they had hung up), while simultaneously recalling my delight of playing with this embryonic fluid of aliens (hello? It comes in an egg!) as a child. Needless to say, I am no longer stressed about the holiday or the inerasably sloppy state of my room. Such wonder indeed!
(The satisfying snapping sound one gets from biting the Silly Putty with one's front teeth is entirely worth the headache one will get 2 hours later.)
(First, there is a new store in the mall located in close proximity to my house. I ventured there one day and sat in a Starbucks parking lot, without buying anything, for about two or three hours. I noticed the store, "Five Below" across the road. So I wondered: five below freezing? Five below the speed limit? Five below the average IQ? Five below the average 5.5? My ruminations became increasingly less charitable, so I drove across the street for exploration.
Second, do you remember your childhood? Think Hard............................... I hope you were Thinking very Hard in that space. I don't remember much about my childhood other than watering the flowers [with a green sippy cup] woven into my bedroom carpet in attempts to make them grow, carving my sibling's name into furniture in attempts to see it punished, rubbing bar soap on the tires of our tractor in attempts to make the tires spin out the next time my father operated it, hiding robins' eggs underneath my bed in attempts to incubate them, and throwing my new kitten off the crows nest of our swing-set in attempts to teach him to fly. Yours is undoubtedly similar.
There is no third. In fact, there was one, but I have forgotten it, and since this is my blog and my mind, you would have never known that there was a third, but I feel that proper justification to this story would not be given if I did not mention that at one point in time there was a third, but now there is not.
Fourth, have you ever cleaned your room and found something truly of value? [I could now attach my philosophy book here with a pretty little brightly colored link so that you would know to CLICK HERE if you wanted to read up on the different meanings of value, but I feel that the most entertainment I would get out of that is seeing how many of you actually clicked.] Yes, well we all have in our own quaint way I'm sure.)
I was completely stressed out (It is a holiday after all. "Holi": from the French, hooligans, and "day": from the German, are going to possess the bodies of your family members who will in turn force you to clean at insane hours of the morning, cook outrageous amounts of food, and watch movies you would not otherwise watch.) so I started cleaning my room. (This is an impressive task; that is all you need to know.) I dug through a few yards of clothing, garbage, cutlery, and homework, only to find a plastic bag from Five Below. I knew there was a DVD in it, so I took that out and threw it onto another pile of art supplies, sweaters, coffee filters, and cassette tapes, but as I was going to throw away the plastic bag, I realized something else was in it.
The catch phrase on the back of the package I found in the bag was: "Nothing else is... (know how to finish it? Of course not, no one remembers a catch phrase that could apply to every object on or off the face of the planet [I could link another philosophical essay here debating on how every item, even if there are "duplicates", has individuality, originality, and meaning in its own way, but you wouldn't fall for that twice, would you?] so don't sweat it.) SILLY PUTTY!"
Oh my blissfully poor memory that forgets the best things only to have them turn up in my hands and fill me with joy for a second time! I recalled instantly how excited I had been to buy the silly putty from Five Below (which I believe was named for the five below 1,567 warning signs about security cameras [I counted: 1,562] they had hung up), while simultaneously recalling my delight of playing with this embryonic fluid of aliens (hello? It comes in an egg!) as a child. Needless to say, I am no longer stressed about the holiday or the inerasably sloppy state of my room. Such wonder indeed!
(The satisfying snapping sound one gets from biting the Silly Putty with one's front teeth is entirely worth the headache one will get 2 hours later.)
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