I've decided to take a trip to my local thrift store just check if there is anything new. Err, used-new. Whatever.
I love thrift stores. How can you not? There's no place like them. So many inalienable characteristics. For any thrift store regulars, this list should be almost boringly recognizable. In a thrift store...
- Everyone's walking with a limp.
- Someone, somewhere, is coughing. No, like, "Are they okay?" coughing.
- One of the aisles smells like urine. And the items in the aisle are completely irrelevant. Sometimes it's the books and puzzles and snowcone maker aisle, and sometimes it's the plates and bowls and broken-electronic-dartboard-with-candy-bar-gunk-in-it aisle. Doesn't matter what. Smells like pee.
- In the corner, a guy is staring at a car stereo with a tape deck. He's debating. Yeah, it's in really good condition considering how old it is. Looks vintage. On the other hand... dude, do you even have tapes? Yeah, you probably do...
- Something is spilled on the floor. It's either tomato soup or blood. Neither of which should be in a thrift store. But you're not surprised.
- There are no food items for sale anywhere in the store, but for some reason ooh, expired Pringles! I'm sure they're fine.
- Look, some jerk left a Starbucks coffee cup just sitting on a shelf. Oh wait, that's yours.
- "This is a nice, giant metal desk that obviously belonged to a grade school teacher and will require a U-Haul to transport. There must be somewhere I can fit this."
- There's a year-round Christmas/Holiday section of records. The same ones from last year. If people are so up in arms about people not saying "Merry Christmas," start buying those fucking Christmas records. Maybe people think you don't want to hear "Merry Christmas." That's certainly what the record section tells me.
- Hovering around the employees who are pretending to listen is a crazy guy who is always in the store. He doesn't buy anything. Ever. You've never seen him arrive, or leave. He just... is.
- Oh wow, what a great t-shirt... if only the previous owner didn't have a neck the size of a waist.
- Okay, the maximum time you can be in a thrift store before feeling like you've swallowed a dirt cake with a dust bunny frosting has passed. Oh well, that's fine, I need some time to think about whether or not to purchase that ketchup stained strobe light.
Alright, so I'm here at my local thrift shop. Let's see what we've got...
Oh, no problems growing up, I'm sure, for... Juice.
The front cover says, "Hi, we're naked..."
The back cover says...
"And fucking loving it!"
I just want to say...
I fully support your lifestyle, Ms. Newton.
It's okay, blue plaid collared shirt. You're safe now. Carl can't hurt you anymore.
My friend points out the Jolly Green Giant's fall house cleaning donation.
Really want to get these, but even more than wanting to get these, I want nothing to do with these...
There's no man on Earth who wants a woman to look at his crotch and think, "He must be fast." I'll pass, $1.49 bin at thrift store... I'll pass.
My first thought seeing this was "For the menstruating woman on-the-go in a post-apocalyptic world."
Though, in a post-apocalyptic world, the cost probably wouldn't be dollars. More like, one Bag O Rags for rodent protein. Or one Bag O Rags for half a basement sex slave.
Alright, time to go wash your hands before eating or touching your face or basically anything that---whoops too late you have polio.