Over the weekend, I had a hectic schedule filled with OnDemand episodes of American Pickers, which is what I imagine a perfect weekend to be, so that kind of worked out well. But after watching about five episodes in a row, I started to get the itch to try and find some junk and sell it. Kind of like how when you were a kid and you watched Three Ninjas, you would get super hyper and do karate kicks off the couch and break your parents records to make ghetto Chinese stars to throw around the backyard. Guys, you know what I'm talking about.
That being said, I was back in Harrisburg for a couple days, so I decided to try my hand at a little small-item picking at my old haunt, the Salvation Army. Generally I look for go-to items like Members Only and vintage Adidas track jackets, which generally net a small profit on eBay. But every once in awhile, I'll buy a Plaxico Burress Giants jersey with the hope that he'll re-sign to them but then it'll sit in my closet for two years until I take it back to the same thrift store I got it from.
Anyway, I generally head for the shoe rack first, which is usually in the front of the store, and I always hope to find a first generation pair of Air Jordans, which has never even come close to happening. Ten times out of ten the only thing that's ever there are loafers that clearly came from someone who was recently deceased, whose shoes were the only thing the family couldn't give away at the estate sale. This time around I was scanning the rack and saw a pair of black cowboy boots. They were too big for me, but I picked them up and checked them out, in the off-chance they were less than five dollars, in which case I could give them to Luke Foley for a wedding present.
As I was handling them, I noticed a guy lingering nearby. He had glasses, a gray sweatshirt and jeans, slightly overweight, and was about 5' 7" and probably around forty years old. I realize I just described George Costanza. However, this guy looked more like a typical Salvation Army customer, in that he looked like he just came from the processing trailer of To Catch a Predator. Or just a trailer in general (I shamelessly include myself in this demographic).
"Hey, those are some pretty nice boots."
Apparently Tuesdays are not only half-off blue tag day, they're also let's talk to random strangers day.
I attempted to play it off. "Yeah, I think they're a little too big for me though. I have pretty small feet." Didn't play it off too well, because in hindsight, I assume that last sentence must have been taken for a veiled allusion to my penis size.
So the cheese was set. The rat followed.
I continued around to the other side of the shoe rack, completely ignoring his presence. Unbeknownst to me, this is a textbook courting ritual in Thrift Store Relationships 101.
"So are you from around here?"
Literally, he said that. In all of my writing liberty, I did not embellish that sentence by one word. All the years of thrift store shopping in my youth, always wishing that an emo girl wearing Chucks and Manic Panic nail polish would use a pick-up line on me, and this is what I get. The cliche of pick-up lines. I mean, come on man, I know you just walked from the library after using the internet there for three hours trying to get around every firewall by phonetically spelling "teeny bikini." All you had to do was Google "good pick-up lines." At least give me that.
What's even more pathetic than that is that I didn't even realize he was using a pick-up line on me. In my defense, there are a few reasons for this:
1) Nobody of any sex has ever seriously used a pick-up line on me. Except for when that bartender in Oklahoma asked, "Can I get you another drink, honey?". That was a pretty cool night. I ended up sleeping with... cats who liked to jump all over me and my bandmates while we slept on the tile floor of a person's house that we never met.
2) I kind of as a rule try to be nice to anyone weird, because at one time in my life I wore polyester pants from the same store and rocked a chain necklace (if that's even rock-able) and had braces and I really appreciated when people were nice to me.
3) When the guy first talked to me about the boots, I actually thought he was mentally handicapped. I've noticed that in places like thrift stores and churches, there always seems to be a person of that demographic. I don't mind talking to them for a little bit, because I like to be engaging and also it's not like I have anything better to do with my time.
Now, in the end, I was slightly correct. He was not all there mentally.
Me: "I'm from around here, but don't live here anymore."
Him: "Oh, okay, I'm new to the area and was wondering if there was anything to do around here."
What I wish I would've said: "Oh really? The glory hole maze is just two blocks down, and it's more than a half-mile radius from any elementary school."
What I really said: "I don't know, I'm just back visiting for the day."
About a second of silence. Enough time for a high-dive into the deep end.
Him: "So do you have a girlfriend?"
What I wish I would've said: "No, girls are gross!" (Just because).
What I really said: "Yep."
Him: "Do you like, ever mess around with anyone else?"
At this point, I'm just kind of impressed that five sentences into our friendship, he managed to reach the point of discussing my infidelities or lack thereof.
What I wish I would've said: "Funny you should ask, cause I love messing around with other people, especially ones that fit my default Craigslist ad of "White M4M/Salvo Dressing Room!"
What I really said: "Nope."
As much steam as our conversation had, it had suddenly hit a dead end.
I tried to look for the silver lining. I don't get many chances anymore to tell myself "I still got it." Turns out, I still don't.
So I walked away, trying to register what happened. As I proceeded to look at the copy of The Deathly Hallows in the used book section, I realized he must have thought our whole relationship had been a lie, because what adult looking through Harry Potter at a thrift store in Harrisburg has a girlfriend.
I guess I'll just have to go onto Craigslist and post in "missed encounters" to the lumpy thrift store guy that really, honestly, I was telling almost the truth. I don't have a girlfriend. I have a wife-to-be. I still I don't mess around with other people though.
But you do. So good luck in your search for bargain sex.
(Note: Wednesdays are everything half-off day).
