Dear George,
I can’t remember when my passion for thrift stores began. The closest thing in my childhood was when my dad came back from the war. Though he had his law degree, his practice was just beginning, and he had very few clients. Hence, our family had very little income. To save money, we moved to the unfurnished cottage that my grandfather had built shortly before his death out of town on the Menominee River. Every now and then I would get my red wagon and my dad and I would walk the half mile up Riverside Boulevard to the City Dump in order to find furnishings for our new house. This was the most exciting father-son activity of my young life. While he retrieved household items (e.g., broken furniture, worn kitchen utensils), I collected soda bottle caps (a remarkable variety being available back in the forties). I definitely was convinced at an impressionable age of the wonder and value of discarded, secondhand items.
Nowadays our nearest thrift shore is about two miles away in Winton Place. I visit perhaps once a month. I was excited when they recently opened up a discount warehouse store a block away. As an employee explained, the second store is the “end of the line.” It’s all the stuff that wouldn’t sell in the regular store and is purportedly being given away at bargain basement prices. It’s much more popular than the main store. All of the merchandise is piled into one or another of about sixty huge bins, each holding about 80 cubic feet of cast-offs. Everything is sold by the pound: clothing, toys, electronics, and odds and ends for $1.09 a pound; books for 49 cents. Most of the customers are busy searching through the clothing bins. However, it’s the books and odds and ends that appeal to me. Stuffed animals, toys and games, records and CDs, tableware, office supplies, Xmas lights, baseball caps, artwork, just about everything one might need or desire. On my first visit I filled my shopping basket with miscellaneous treasures including a 1966 Columbia Encyclopedia yearbook (the year I came to Cincinnati). The book was admittedly heavy, but, even so, I was shocked at the cash register to learn that I was being charged $2.35. Since hardback books at the “up-scale” thrift store next door cost $1.00 apiece, the so-called discount price struck me as way out of line.
I went home and stewed about this for the rest of the day. Finally I took 10 average-sized hardbound books off our bookshelf and weighed them. The average book weighed 2.4 pounds, meaning it would cost $1.18 at the discount warehouse. Convinced of the injustice of my purchase, I wrote a letter to the manager, conveying this information and arguing that it was unfair for the discount warehouse to sell books, on average, for 18 cents more than the “main” store charges. I suggested that 39 cents a pound would be more fair. Even 29 cents would be reasonable for a discount thrift store. I didn’t hear back right away, but I assumed that the price per pound for books would have been lowered by the time of my next visit. Disappointingly it wasn’t. The manager, despite several months to consider the matter, still hasn’t replied to my carefully thought out, helpful and persuasive letter. While discouraged, I do still buy books at the warehouse. But I’m careful to only choose their less weighty offerings.
Love,
Dave
