Thrifting: Good Will Hunting

Thrifting Insights from a Good Will Hunter

My sister, Leah, recently (ok, way back in February) wrote about a thrifting experience, and gave me permission to post her  story  on my blog.  I’ve named her post  tongue in cheek, chuckling.   If you want serious thrifty inspiration, ple-ease stay tuned or check out previous posts; I am an avid thrifter and love sharing inspiration (and would love to hear yours). Whether or not you’re a serious thrifter, I know you’ll enjoy Leah’s humorous take on the hunt.

First I’ll share snippets of our email conversation, and then I’ll share her  Good Will Hunting story.

Me, After Reading Her Thrifting Story:

Hey Leah–

I Laughed.  Out loud, all by myself.  I love this and am sooooo eager to post it.  Actually, that’s a lie.  I lay in bed, after laughing out loud at your story, and felt somewhat jealous and threatened.  If I posted this, anyone who read my blog would know what I have always feared and pushed deeeeep dooooown into my….deep down-ness: that you are way funnier than me.  I felt like the homemade bread big sister (for just a moment) all over again…warm, nice, sustaining…but kind of boring.  Nevertheless.   I got over it by morning-time, and now I’m eager to post this Good Will adventure on my blog.

Leah’s Letter, followed by her Thrifting Story, at Which I Laughed Out Loud As Mentioned Above:

Hi Lynaea!

I started this email to Chandler as another journal page ( I think I told you how I so efficiently combine journaling and letter-writing). Part way through it I wondered if it might be a worthy blog entry for you ~ but even if you can’t use it, I wanted you to know the story behind the candle holder I got for you. I know presentation is significant in gift giving ~ I’m sorry this one is so poorly wrapped and not personally delivered. But it was chosen, as you will read, with the greatest of expectations. I always love to look at your decor when I am at your home, and this last visit got me wondering if I could find something, like some of your friends have, worthy of adding to your collection.

P.S. I heard on the radio (an advertisement for silver coins) that the price of silver is going up. If you don’t like the candle holder (mom thinks it is really silver), maybe if you hold on to it, it will be valuable enough to melt down in 50 years . . .

Love, Leah

(Leah’s Good Will Hunting Story)

I went thrift store shopping today. Actually, that’s a glamorization. I went to Good Will. The Walmart of thrift stores. I was in the neighborhood and had just earned $50 ~ the hard way ~ replacing insulation in the rafters above a retirement center. Remember Escape from Alcatraz? The Great Escape? The Secret of Nimh?  Those tunnelers have nothing on me. You should have seen it! I was weaving my body through pipes, wires, nail studded joists, petrified refuse of vermin and varmints ~ all the while applauding my choice of a drywall career. A lesser professional might have had a claustrophobic panic attack, or chosen not to utilize their medical mask and hyperventilated cancerous quantities of blown-in insulation. Fortunately, I was trained for this type of extremity. “Get on your stomach and slither around. You’ll have to get off the studs but you’ll be fine ~ just don’t put all your weight in one place.” Advice from the boss. Just because sheet rock is black with mold doesn’t mean it won’t hold you, right? Right. I’m the proof. And insulation in your bra and underwear is a highly affordable alternative to forms of enhancement. Even so, it was a high-risk job, easily worth $500, but what do ya do? Sub-contractors are under-appreciated and under paid, especially when they work for their husbands, which is why I went shopping. The prospect of spending $50 has rarely felt so justifiable! But I knew from experience the fervor could fade. I had to act quickly, before reason returned. Where do you go when you’re coated in drywall, coughing up insulation, and bent on spending next to nothing? Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could, but next to nothing comes from Good Will.

Good Will. More like good intentions gone bad, bad gifts still good, and good luck required! It is not a store for the faint of heart. Even so, I entered confidently. Had I not just been in my eldest sister’s home? Had I not witnessed rescued, reformed, revitalized objets d’ art ingeniously displayed there? Walking through her house is like walking through the pages of  “If You Had A Clue You Could Do This Too” magazine. She is the fairy God-Mother of second-hand cast-offs and I, newly inspired by her magic touch, was eager to unearth a Cinderella treasure of my own. But where to start? For the first time I appreciated Prince Charming’s dilemma when he had to examine the feet of an entire female population to find the owner of the glass slipper. One foot is as ugly as another and yet, if only he could find the right set of toes, they would lead him to the girl of his dreams. In the meantime, he endured a lot of stinky, calloused, fungus laden, plantar-wart infested feet. So it was at Good Will; heaps of feet, as it were, with only the slim chance of a perfect fit. Nonetheless, as determined as a prince one slipper short of a pair, I charged in.

My first obstacle? The front display: pink, red, and purple paraphernalia ~ velveteen pillows, flowers, teddy-bears, coffee mugs ~ representing, I gathered, the Valentine aisle. A collection of rejection. The grave yard of tokens of affection. I did not linger there. If silk roses were an insufficient keep-sake for some adolescent heart-throb they were no trophy for me! I am, after all, more sophisticated than the average dry-waller.

I moved on to something more . . . serviceable. Dinner-ware. Perhaps I could find something like the brightly colored saucers, tea-cups, vases and bowls Lynaea displays on her antique hutch. I think she told me once that some pieces can be quite valuable. After scanning stacks of partial Corelle sets, mis-matched champagne glasses, serving platters and a pink cereal bowl sporting a scull and crossbones (it was a nice shade of pink), I found a likely looking saucer. “Grandma Johnson, 78” was painted on the bottom. What did that mean?  Was it a priceless one-of-a-kind? I examined it more closely. Hand painted radishes entwined by green scrolls of leafy garlands. Hmmmm. . .only a few weeks ago I read a story about a woman who bought a $15 painting at a thrift store, decided it was hideous, almost tossed it, but, just in the nick of time, discovered it was worth thousands. Now she loves it. “It grew on her.” This saucer could grow on me . . . the question was, did Grandma Johnson paint the radishes or did Monet? Could this saucer be the missing piece of a priceless collection the greedy Johnson clan over-looked at Grandma’s demise? I hope not! Because though I clung momentarily to the possibility, I left the radish dish behind.

It was not long before I gave up on scanning and began to dig, hunting in earnest, but lapsing into self-concious casualness when other customers appeared. At one point, a trendy looking blonde squeezed past me (so many treasures, so little room) and ducked down to examine something on the bottom shelf. Right away, I knew she had the thrift gift. She could see past the soot and find the Cinderella. It was like watching a dog on point. She was all business. No meandering, no hopeful musing. She knew what she was about. “Watch and learn” I told myself. “Don’t let her cute clothes and clean hair intimidate you. You’re good enough for this establishment too.” I pretended to be contemplating the possibilities of various items in front of me while I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She picked up a silver (like, really, for-real silver!) multi-stemmed candle holder thing. How had I missed that? It was so cool looking! I could picture it in Lynaea’s house which confirmed it’s value instantly. How many times had I walked right past it? What was I thinking? Seeing it now in her hands it’s worth was obvious. I felt sucker punched. Like someone had just stolen my winning lotto ticket. But wait. She put it down! I caught my breath. Was she delusional? Maybe she was having an off day. No. She picked it up again. Darn! Then it hit me. “She knows I’m watching. It’s the competitive vibe. Pretend you’re disinterested.” I turned on my dry-wall muddied sneakers and walked to the next aisle over, counted to 35, then peeked around the corner. Alas, the treasure was lost to me. She was holding it in her hands and examining another probably invaluable thing-a-ma-jig I had over-looked.

As I watched, another fancy customer brushed past me and snatched a vase from the shelf in front of me. “Hey! Wait! I was here first! I was going to look at that!” I wanted to shout. This was getting intense. The store was suddenly bustling. Was there a memo out for Good Will Gold Customers? “Items of significant value have been inadvertently donated. Come get them before Leah does.”

I hurried over to the framed prints. What if the Mona Lisa had been dropped off? Starry Night? The Scream? It had to be one of the those ~ my art I.Q. would take me no further, but it didn’t matter. The nearest thing approaching fame was a Hannah Montana poster. I contemplated the possibilities, but only briefly. Here’s the good news: I went back to the aisle where the genuine silver, cool looking candle thing had been and the trendy girl had put it back! What luck! I grabbed it up and huddled over it protectively. Yes! Success!

But . . .wait. Why had she left it? Was it not as cool as I thought? Too passé? Not actually silver? It looked silver. I bit it. (Is that what you do?) It tasted silver. But if it was worth anything, wouldn’t it be gone? Ah, the conundrum. I looked at the price tag. $20. One of the more expensive items in the store. Was that a point in it’s favor? Oh, to be Prince Charming with a glass slipper to guarantee the authenticity of my find . . . I fingered the $50 in my pocket. Like a clock striking midnight, reality dawned. I had no slipper. I am no fairy godmother. The choice was clear. I left Good Will and headed to Cold Stone, where dreams really do come true.

—Leah Wilcox

The End, Except for Pictures of Me  With Aforementioned Candelabra That Leah Must Have Purchased Anyway, and a Gnome