I Walk the Line - Thrift Store Adventure

A fiction depicting my dream last night of being in the Thrift Store and having donators remorse.

Last night I went to the Thrift Store with lots of stuff to donate, shorts, socks, small wares, even a blazer and some dress pants.  As I arrived at the drop off zone at the store, I joined the line of other donators as the capable and musically vocal clerk inspected our donations. Being handy capable she had a serene smile on her face as she sung Johnny Cash’s song, “I Walk the Line” in a never ending loop.  The rich lady in front of me made the mistake of thinking that our clerk was, ‘incapable' and started to patronize the Clerk. The singing stopped the smile vanished, and the b***h slapping proceeded.  The Clerk proceeded up one side of her and down the other; what was the rich lady to do but to take it in stride? Duly chastened, the patron slinked out the side door when her transaction was complete.

It was my turn.  I had brought a wicker laundry basket full of my treasures, but as I stood in line, I re-examined each of my donations to find that I wasn’t completely ready to part with everything.  In fact, by the time that I got to the clerk I had only one thing in my entire basket that I was willing to part with - my softcover Dianetics book that I purchased from the Dianetics Foundation in London in 1983.  

Donators remorse may be a typical experience at the Thrift Store as the clerk took no notice when I asked her, "could I place my basket on the floor behind her while I did some shopping of my own."  She smiled and nodded, took my basket, put it on the floor inside her cube, and I went shopping.

Thirty minutes later, after browsing through all of the neat stuff at the store, I had some knitting wool, $2; old pattern books, $3; and a beautiful dinner platter - Buffalo Pottery - $3.  I made my purchases and then worked my way back to the donations drop off zone.  

I looked over the counter for my basket with my blazer on the top and to my dismay, it was gone!  Dare I confront the handy Clerk with the ever efficient b***h slap with an accusation that my un-donated treasures and laundry basket were all gone.  Thoughts rushed through my head as I decided how to approach her with the problem - would she get it, or would I GET it, (slapdown that is). 

I waited in line; there were three people ahead of me.  I had plenty of time to consider my approach.  Listening to the repetitive, “because your mine, I walk the line”, I started to think that instead of my nemesis, this woman was my savior.  She was saving me from a lack of resolution and an instinct for hoarding and now that my treasures were in the processing area, behind the doors marked, “Staff Only”, I could just walk away, a free man.  So I did.