Accesorized Recyclables©

By P.H. Reis

The doors swing open; a mix of peculiar odors come flying through. No windows are open to show the world outside. No luxury is found here. Only clumps of disorganized apparels displayed unevenly on mal-built hangers. There are no salespeople pushing their product at you to make a profit. No pompous women marked cloyingly with bright smudges of make-up spraying and saying, “free perfume samples” like you would find at other places like here. The only signs of commercial life that you see are exhaust-stricken singletons counting the minutes till their shifts end. The only conspicuous voice your ears might hear is the announcer telling the brats in aisle seven to stop fooling around, “A reminder: any child in the toy isle is to be supervised by his/her guardian.” As if you would not know that what had just been said was a euphemism. As you step through these doors, especially if it’s your first time, the first things that you might notice are the people there. Individuals that are no less, no more than anyone else in dignity but still depleted of their integrity for the very fact that they are there. These individuals are here not because of choice but because of need. These people need clothing. They are not in Adam & Eve’s time. To walk, work and live in this world you need clothing. It’s a fact of life.
As you walk down the aisles costumed by arrays of clothing ‘generously’ donated by heart-filled good citizens, all you can think of, like the employees, is “I want out.” But again, these individuals are here because of need. Above the aisles are badly made advertisements for the discounts that are daily offered. “Today’s color is Red!” As if giving a discount on already under priced products is such a wholehearted given gift! It’s not a gift. It’s a token of pity. Shopping here is less of an errand and more of a search. Browsing the hangers is like clicking ‘enter’ on Google. Millions upon millions of results come but only a few are what you actually wanted. The fact that you can call something clothing doesn’t mean it is fitted to be it. The odds of finding something valuable in this array are as small as the amount of patience that you will receive from the salespeople.
A peculiar aspect is that when you leave, your hands are dirty. With what, I’m not sure. Maybe it’s dust from the loosely cleaned clothing. Maybe it’s the must rising from the dirty jackets somehow drenching your hands with filth. Although exiting here is a relief beyond no measure, you are not left unmarked. It is easy to spot the brightly colored bags displaying logos such as, “The Ultimate Treasure Hunt.” shown through back windows of raggedy old cars bathed in grime blown ferociously by wind made by rushing speed on the highway. Is it treasure really? It’s not like searching for precious gold among imitation fools’ stones. It is more like separating the ‘not so bad’ from the completely ‘useless’. Like fixing an old car even though you know it will break again. Ads from places like this all ensure that you will save money. But, the consumers here, who most are probably struggling to even pay their rent, do not consider their purchases discounts but another expense of life. Upon exit, there is no sense of satisfaction. You can’t say, “I did a good job.” All you think is, “How will I wash this junk?” But, oddly enough, there is a positive feeling. There is a sense of gratitude. Although shopping here is not exactly one of life’s greatest moments, it is one of life’s greatest charities. Not generously given charities such as those shown on cups you see on supermarket counters. Those are given with heart. You can easily pass by the cup and not give a penny’s worth. They are not demanding. They are asking. But here, donations are not asked for, nor are they demanded. They are presented as business transactions. “We’ll take your no longer needed junk that if thrown away your conscious would haunt you and we’ll give you the short-lived satisfaction of doing a good deed.” These donations are given in second-hand, hence the name Second-hand Stores. A Thrift Store, Salvation Army, Savers. A place where what is presented is not what is wanted but needed. It is the place where your junk can find a home with someone else, a place where your pity finds its comfort. I’ve felt your pity. Thanks.