I am loving pulp fiction books from the 1950s-60s right now! They are so scandalous and racy, but in a somehow quaint way. I want to find a neat way to display my growing collection. Either that or I’ll have to Etsy them before they become part of my growing clutter situation.
Today was not a normal thrifty Tuesday because I…a) had to get a follow-up blood test at the hospital, b) meet my cousin’s wife and my mom & sister for a late breakfast, and c) rush home by 1:00 to get ready to go to the dentist. I had not visited the dentist for nearly seven years (!!). Luckily, I had no cavities, just some plaque buildup and a stern warning to floss more. After my appointment was over, the hubby & I stopped by Walgreens for some new mouthwash, toothpaste, and pretzel M&Ms just to be rebels. It was after 3:00 by the time we got home.
I decided to hit the nearby Goodwill & Salvation Army under the pretense of grocery shopping. Although I am sure my husband wasn’t fooled since it took me almost two hours and I came home bearing two pitiful little bags of groceries. He knows my sneaky, sneaky ways. It wasn’t an incredibly fruitful trip but I did find a vintage 1980’s Chicago bears jacket to wear on football Sundays when it gets colder, a little black veiled hat from the 1950’s (for a quarter!) and some metallic bronze sling-back heels that were not vintage but cute nonetheless and only 3 bucks. I saw an incredible midcentury modern dresser/sideboard without a tag and immediately found the closest employee.
He was an older man who I have always thought takes his position wayyy too seriously- the same kind of person who as a child was a spastic hall monitor that everyone else loathed. He once snapped at my nephew for fiddling with the control handles on a beat-up foosball table. It’s a thrift store, it’s donated, it’s practically a piece of junk already with scratches and dings galore, it’s a TOY, and we are customer who might have be thinking of purchasing said beat-up piece of junk! I was so tempted to say something but I held back. Then when I approached him today, he checked the furniture for a tag and then concluded “nope, no tag. Sorry.” I asked him if there was a way to find out if someone had purchased it and he said no & that someone might be walking around the store with the tag. “I wish they wouldn’t do that,” he muttered angrily to himself. I then inquired if there was a way to put my name on it in case the tag had just been torn off and he said no, they were not allowed to hold things. He suggested I come back tomorrow. He said the price would probably be around thirty bucks.
When I got to the register, I said hello and asked politely “Do you happen to know if anyone purchased a dresser from you in the last hour? I am interested in one without a tag” to which she snapped “I don’t KNOW.” The emphasis on the “know” was louder than necessary, considering I had only asked once, and very nicely. She had little wrinkled raisin lips and cold eyes. I felt myself shiver from her icy look. “Okay,” I said, in the most saccharin-coated tone ever. “Just checking!” She continued to bag my stuff looking like she just smelled fresh manure. I wanted to say “Then you really suck at your job if you can’t remember what you’ve sold in the time span of one measly hour!” Of course, I did not. But I did leave my basket sitting on the counter instead of putting it back in the stack by the front door. Ha! That’ll show ‘em.