Late Night Thrift Shopping

A few months back my sister, mother and I made a trip to the op-shop at about seven o’clock. Wild times on a Saturday night. It was definitely a strange experience, one worth blogging about. As we walked in, a slightly musky odour filled the air, a mix of dust, powder and age. An almost hazy atmosphere characterised the warehouse like store, the artificial lights inside competing with the darkened sky. We had to visit Savers for my sister to pick up some porcelain products; part of an art project, don’t ask. As we scoured the shelves, glass serving ware was placed next to melamine mugs, Gatbsy-esque glasses sat next to chipped teapots, superfluous vases were positioned with cartoon decorated plates. With the closing time of the store approaching, customers rushed about, hands full with potential purchases, taking a final look at the shelves. As we made our way to the checkout, customers seemed to follow in toe. Taking myself out of the line, I stood behind the registers, my back to the street, a full view of the store in my line of sight. As the line began to extend from one end to the next, all kinds of characters emerged from the lines of racks. Hipsters with their awkward length sports socks, shorts and backpacks scoring a “cool” vintage find, middle aged women looking for a new outfit, elderly people with their shopping baskets, parents trying to herd their children. As the wait in line stretched out, one lady occupied her time by talking to the man next to her, explaining a trip she went on overseas which was actually his native country. To the side of the line a mother went through a bowl of buttons with her daughter. Some in the line had one item, others had baskets full. As there was one checkout woman working, the store had to run overtime, catering for the late night shoppers. An older lady at the register was buying $230 worth of shoes and clothes, stacking the shoes into a bag she had brought with her. The buttons of the register harmonised with the flicking of receipts by another worker opposite. When my sister’s purchases had been paid for and wrapped in newspaper, we made our way to the door. As we left the store, through the window I noticed a woman searching the shelves for a new book. As the bright lights of the store signs glared bright in the fading distance, a much needed sanitiser session was called for.