Let's be things found inside of a Goodwill Thrift Store!

I am the shelf of dusty VHS tapes that no one will ever buy ever again.

I am the sad, grimy Charming Charlie handbag who sits on the shelf, unloved.

OP is correct. I can't count all the times I've seen that book in a thrift store.

I'm the shelf with a dozen Mr. Coffee machines all missing their glass carafes.

I am Dataloungers, apparently.

Originally purchased ten minutes before closing time on Christmas Eve, it seemed like the perfect gift for someone living in a studio apartment with a total of three feet of counter space.

I am all the electronics of questionable quality and functionality.

I’m a velour v-neck. I’ve been on this rack since 1981.

I'm 12" records from the 1940s & 1950s. Some of me are in thin, good condition sleeves, my donors put me here when they learned that at best they could get a dollar per disc from record collectors. At least one 'Sing Along with Mitch' record.

I am the collection of huge, fat Tommy Bahama hawaiian shirts on the men's shirt rack.

I am that stale, sweaty smell lingering in the air. I will stay on everything, even non-fabric items you take home.

I am all the shit no one on Craigslist wanted to buy after reposting all of it 33 X.

I am the hundreds of CDs by musicians no one has ever heard of and never will.

Trump University course materials

A copy of this epic dreck, that was inexplicably successful in the mid 80s, with still only the first 50 pages ever read.

^^^ sorry, was meant to be a picture of this...

I'm the unopened Grandma Moses crewel embroidery kit.

I am a bread machine. I was very popular in the 90s, then people stopped eating carbs.

I'm the peculiar artwork.

I am a desktop all-in-one inkjet printer/scanner/copier. My replacement ink cartridges cost more than I did.

I'm the big box of old landline telephones sitting in the corner.

I am the contents of your home. I was dumped here after you died. I will still be here, unsold long after you are rotted away.

There is one of me at least for every one of you, "In the Kitchen With Rosie."

I’m the unopened package of adult diapers.

There are ALWAYS adult diapers.

And Crock Pots.

I’m the shiny wedding dress made of poly satin and scratchy, dirty lace. I’m covered in suspicious coffee- and urine-colored stains.

Cmon... you’re still dying to try me on, Queen.

I'm the boardgames missing 30% of the pieces, minimum.

I'm the racks and racks of corporate logo tee-shirts touting team building days, picnics and company outings to theme parks. If they'd quit with this shit and the stupid tee-shirts, the douchey hipster trying to make me happen could actually have a well paying job and not have to buy these shirts, 2 for 5 dollars.

I'm a copy of "Treason" by Ann Coulter next to a copy of "Liars" by Glenn Beck. Next to a copy of "the purpose driven life".

Isn't "Goodwill" + "thrift" redundant?

Used plastic Christmas tree. Tangled up Christmas lights.

I'm the MY FAIR LADY Original Broadway Cast Album LP.

I am the dishevelled obsessive compulsive, a daily customer, looking to add to my hoard of shit.

I'm Macklemore, digging through the "Must Go" reduced sale clothing bins

I’m the urine soaked plaid couch with scratched wood accents.

I'm the vintage Izod shirt with the alligator on it. You'll never find me because the slave labor they use to pick thro shit yoinks me before I ever get on the floor.

R37, I see vintage Lacoste occasionally.

My Goodwill lets many upscale brands slip through because they haven’t heard of them. Nina Ricci, Stubbs & Wootton, Shanghai Tang, Roberta Freymann, Kookai, Anne Fontaine, Armand Doradourian, and so on.

I volunteered at a nicer thrift store (proceeds went to local AIDS charity). The donations we'd get tended to be better than what you'd normally see at other thrifts, as the donors were usually gay, upper middle to upper class. I worked in the sorting room and R37 is right, a lot of good stuff would get snagged by us volunteers before hitting the floor.

You'll see quite a few of me.

Whoooooo wants to take me home?

I am the ponderosa pine. I'm not as fancy as the olive wood disguised as massive spoon and fork, but I'm still here.

I may be a simple wall candelabra with cast iron accents that weighs 60 pounds, a heavily polyurethaned dough board, or even a burned ashtray carved by a mildly retarded eighth grader.

I'm a fondue set. I've been here for forty years.

I'm the stacks of Beanie Babies that my previous owners hoarded in a spare bedroom of their trailer, thinking they'd be worth a lot of money some day.

r42 Ponderosa pine?

yes, r45. There should be "burns" around the edges, but here's a sample:

Thank you, r46. I would never have known.

I'm the lone Harris Tweed jacket sitting forlornly in the men's section. Because I'm not flashy people don't realize I never go out of style and command big bucks if purchased new. If people notice me at all they laugh at my suede elbow patches and think, how quaint.

I also get to be the slightly-worn, drawer-faded Sears brand jockeys hung up on clip hangers. Because Goodwill sells fucking used underwear. Why, yes, the meth-head was in charge of sorting.

I'm National Geographic issues.

I'm the straight up garbage that some wealthy dickhead had cleaned out of his garage. He pats himself on the back over his noblesse oblige, but I go into the dumpster as soon as the pickers open the bag.

I'm the sad blonde wig that has been bought before every Halloween, worn as part of first-time-drag for many gaylings. I'm thrown in the corner after the costume comes off at the end of the night, and donated back to Goodwill where my next enthusiastic owner will find me next year.

I am this soul killing cake carrier. I'm sitting by the horrible plastic kitchen canisters in graduated sizes, from the 70's, also with lettering in another font that can never be ironic or fun.

I am the mug from some church fundraiser.

There's usually 20 of me because some church secretary had to pay for the unsold mugs and wants them out of her cat-filled studio apartment.

I'm a Longaberger basket, formerly a collector's item but now as cheap and worthless as a pog.

I am the vintage Hermes tie. Though an odd colour and just a tinge smelly, I am tried on and there is an irreparable snag that will always be visible just below the knot.

I am the inexplicable array of votive candle holders.

I have my own aisle at the Goodwill on University in Saint Paul.

I'm an original 1954 Picasso drawing in a frame with cracked glass sitting on a shelf in the corner with a tag that says $8.

I am the array of picture frames with tacky, overly sentimental sayings inside. I look like an HGTV show circa 2011.

I am one of the fine items kept in the glass display (yellowed tape over crack in the glass) under the register counter. Like my companions in the display, I defy even close examination to reveal why I am a fine item.

I am this blue lamp. I am an Eldorado and you will not find me in your lifetime in a thrift shop.

Nor will you ever see my whore of a cousin, in red. Alas. We should only cost 15 dollars and surface very 5 - 10 years, but no.

I am this vintage macrame masterpiece. I am sold within the day to a gay designer who is going to flip it to one of his riche bobo clients, for her beach house.

I am a Italian 1970's expresso machine. I am very cool. Do not buy me as I will never work properly.

I am the dubious sculpture that no one realizes is a glass dildo.

Donated from the estate of an aged lesbian.

I am the 25 pieces of hallmarked English silverware thrown in a plastic bag and marked $4.99. Im found buy an elder gay who immediately knows what I am and his hands are shaking as he pays for me.He sells me for several 1000 dollars and I didnt have the heart to tell him that several of the pieces were exceedingly rare Irish silver wich the guy who bought me resold for triple what he paid for me.

r67 If only.

You know you want me.

I am a Brunswick Snurfer, much too Luddite to interest any kid in the shop.

I'm the wad of 100 dollar bills that demented old Uncle Ray hid in his plaid sportcoat. Moths flutter around so I don't even make it into the store.

I'm the rare and valuable vintage watch bought for $5 and sold for close to $40,000. The douchbag who bought and sold me will brag about his acumen on watch forums but not donate one fucking penny to the place he bought me from.

[quote] expresso machine.

Oh, dear.

I am all the shit from Target that wouldn't sell even on clearance so got dumped at Goodwill.

I’m the old, yellowed fisher price toys that unsupervised children play with in the aisles.

I am the many, many copies of the Fifty Shades of Shit that horny fraus devoured before discovering actual porn that was better written.

I am a dusty, crushed 5 foot tall christmas tree with built in lights that don't work, in a torn carton.

I'm a signed and framed portrait of George W. Bush. I look great on my new owner's toilet.

I am a 50-year old blue sharkskin suit that could have been tailored this year. I am discovered by a high school boy taking his best (fag-hag) friend to the prom. He pops a huge boner when he tries me on and I fit like a glove.

I'm the awkward moment when you see someone you know walk in.

I'm the amazingly complicated system my store uses to price things. It involves colored dots, each color representing a price, but every day one or more colors are "on sale" for that day. There are additional discounts for quantity purchases, senior citizens, and who the fuck knows what else. I'm never even close when I finally get the amount due.

I'm the huge bin of wires, cables and cords that no one ever buys.

I am rancid smelling Chinese made plastic seasonal decorations from the 80s and 90's. Do not touch me or sniff too closely as I am toxic.

I'm the CEO of the Omaha Goodwill Stores. I made $933,000 in 2014. I was fired after the Omaha World Herald broke the story, but I'm suing for an additional $554,000 I claim I'm owed. 14 other Omaha Goodwill employees make over $100,000 per year.

I am a collection of University of Michigan memorabilia. I am in a thrift shop in a strip mall in South Carolina.

I am the Vision cookware that was so trendy at one time and is long forgotten.

I'm all the good stuff that the manager pilfers for herself. I never make it to the floor.

I’m a copy of this book, also everywhere.

I'm Tommy and I work here. Teenage boys make fun of me when I go to the pizza shop for a slice. They pretend to be my friend but are just making fun of me. Thing is I have a job, my own place, a girlfriend and lots of friends who stop by to say hello and ask about how my mom is doing after her operation.

What have those guys who laugh at me got?

They ain't got shit.

So fuck y'all.

I am almost these Fire King containers, spied from a distance and breathtaking. However, approached swiftly and closely, I am tragically topless, and they are no where to be found in the shop.

I'm the weird ethnic clothes. I'd make a fantastic Halloween costume, but I'm twelve sizes too small.

I'm the four quesadilla makers sitting next to the five Foreman grills. We were popular gift items fifteen years ago. Now nobody wants us, even for the bargain price of $1.99.

[quote]I'm the rare and valuable vintage watch bought for $5 and sold for close to $40,000. The douchbag who bought and sold me will brag about his acumen on watch forums but not donate one fucking penny to the place he bought me from.

And why should he? If you bought something at a thrift store that turned out not to work do you think they'd give you your money back? Fuck 'em.

Thrifting used to be fun, but so many whores now grab stuff before it even hits the floor. Or pounce at 9:01 am when the store opens.

I am more or less a mail order bride from Togo. My husband is an engineer and works all the time. I went to ESMOD Paris. I am one of those 9 am "whores" at the door because I'm a vintage clothing and sneaker dealer. In a good year I clear 100K.

I'm my collection of over 20 "thrift store paintings" hanging around the house. I know it when I see it, but it has to be under five dollars- that's the rule.

Elderlies who took-up painting (who is "Irene 1973"?); art students who didn't have that special magic; people who watched too much Bob Ross and said, "I can do that".

I present: "Swan Pond".

I am one of several dozen souvenir shot glasses.

I’m hundreds of record albums that are in terrible shape and should all be incinerated.

I’m the smell of bankruptcy and regret that lingers in each Goodwill.

I'm the Best of Linda "Deep Throat" Lovelace DVD discreetly stored in a Gone With the Wind case. I'm about to be picked up by Helen who plans a showing for the gals she plays bridge with every Tuesday afternoon.

I'm a copy of The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. Open me up and you'll find a witty inscription Andy wrote to his fan at an event many years earlier. He also drew a full-page Campbell's Tomato soup can in me for "Rob", who was super cute. On sale, I'll set you back one buck at the register.

I'm the stinky purse on the rack that some homeless guy took a dump in the dressing room because they lock to bathrooms.

I'm the small box of jewelry wedged in the back of an enamel bed pan.

buzzkill alert:

i am the minimum waged, non disabled staff who are not allowed to buy anything that hasn't been out for 6 weeks or more (they color code the tags). when i can buy them, my employee discount is less than the customers get from their Membership card, which employees are disallowed from having.

i am the developmentally disabled worker who does the sorting, spraying with chemical decontaminant, hanging and placing of freely donated (by the public) merchandise. i work even harder and more diligently than the non-disabled staff. some of my disabled friends earn as little as 11¢-30¢ hr. the one of us who is mildly disabled in a photogenic way will get to do the high profile "sweep & mingle with customers" task, making sure the custom knows who is benefitting from their purchases.

I'm the Goodwill customers who also post on Datalounge. I know more about Goodwill than anyone could have ever imagined.

i am the regional director, who wanders in to the local store from time to time.

i, and most of my management staff, drive a mercedes and have a 6 figure salary. mine is a modest $243k yr, but some of my peers in other regions make as much as $600k.

every year, the main organization pays for us all to have a big vacation that they call a convention, so we can natter about what we bought with the $6million our regional sector made off stuff headed for the landfill.

I'm the cute sweater that several women want to buy... until they pick me up and see my tag says I'm from Old Navy. :(

To go along with (r105)

I worked at a "Hoodwill" in St. Pete Fl for a good year and a half,and I can safely say 90% of valuables such as cash,jewelry,art etc NEVER see the light of day. They had those poor retarded people trained to turn in anything they found when sorting,and they used to find stuff constantly. Old people love to stash stuff in clothing. Hell,I find myself doing it now! The story I tell the most is when a camera store owner died and his family donated his entire shop,sight unseen (they lived in Europe) . Boxes of expensive,valuable and rare cameras disappeared almost instantly. There were 100s,we all saw them. Another day I was walking through the warehouse and I stumbled across this pile of antiques,very nice stuff,and it all had $1 or $2 price tags and marked "sold ,Debbie" who was the manager who's sister coincidentally owned an antique store. I shop at Hoodwill because I have found some very lovely stuff that slipped through the cracks,but I wouldnt donate jack shit to that pack of thieves.

I'm the shelf of "vintage" 1980s and 1990s souvenir mugs that don't even have kitschy charm.

there are obviously a Lot of people here who shop at Goodwill since they know what is in the store. But there must be good things in there too if everyone is in there so frequently.

I (and my friend Herbie on the right) are Porcelain Owls on a Stump.

We've been here since 2002.

r110 that's too bad. our Goodwill manager is a stickler for the rules and NO employee is allowed to purchase anything until it has been on the floor for a certain amount of time AND the manager was an ebay seller. Did she buy for herself and sell the stuff? only by the rules and I watched what she sold, and I know her, so I know she didn't cheat.

i am the new, but slightly defective goods sent directly from stores like Target. usually,i am an item needing assembly that was missing the bag of hardware. i get written off the tax bill by the store that donated me.

staff have been instructed to price me exactly the same as my non-defective counterpart being sold across town to aspirational fraus.

It never rains in California but girl, don't they warn ya?

It pours, man, it pours…

^^^OOPS

For your browsing pleasure, may I present the glory that is shopgoodwill.com:

The best Goodwills are in out of the way rural places. The ones in suburban and urban areas have less good stuff. I think that it's because managers and workers in small towns and rural areas don't know what to steal/pull from circulation. I have not found even one good thing since I returned to a big city.

I'm one of the canvas tote bags that has a corporate logo. I got dumped here after I was forced on someone at a a business convention.

Holy shit, R101! Spill! What did you do with it?

Grace Slicks 1980 solo album 'Dreams'

I found it twenty years ago in a Goodwill in Houston and FREAKED! Didn't know it existed and LOVED it.

Thrifting in the nineties was fun and almost always worthwhile. In the past two decades, it’s become more of a chore since there isn’t so much other than plastic junk and mdf furniture.

Craigslist came along and it hasn’t been the same since.

R109, I am intrigued by the subject of that documentary as I’ve not heard much about how skirting the minimum wage for disabled people works.

Also, the choice of the song Tomorrow from Annie sung by what sounds like an embittered ghost holds even more interest for me.

The only finds worth their 1 or 2 bucks in Goodwill shops are t-shirts from local businesses printed on good cotton.

Goodwill outlets are a whole different ball of wax. They roll out these huge, filthy bins full of anything and everything.

Not very welll picked over beforehand. You get in shoving matches with Ghanaians and Guatemalans for the best stuff, but when my daughter was first born and I only worked part time I made like $300-400 extra a week for just a few hours of work, buying things to sell on eBay. Mostly luggage and outdoor gear, but I'd sell anything I could get my hands on.

$350 for a seventies Gucci tote.

$100 for a wah wah pedal.

$300 for a broken ukulele.

You have to have a high tolerance for filth, but it gets addictive. Like gambling but you never lose. At worst you break even.

I am the harvest gold electric fry pan from 1979 , I have both my lid and plug in thermostat , sadly my Teflon II interior is warn

My mom used to volunteer at a thrift shop (non Goodwill),

Mom, being the saint that she was, WOULD take things from the store....to mend or wash them. She always fixed toys and stuffed animals and had a special mild detergent she used to clean them. She'd find women's dress shirts, mend them and set them aside on a rack in the shop; she said a lot of newly divorced or abused women were always in there looking for interview clothes.

Later on, she did collect and sell glassware, but she always paid for everything up front.

There were several old cunts at the shop that used to rob the store blind before anything hit the floor. The one old nosy cunt was in cahoots with the manager, a disagreeable old deplorable before the term came into play. She would take boxes of things like Fiestaware, Pyrex, etc - stuff with known value - out of the shop's back door before anyone saw it.

She tried to give Mom a hard time once about taking things home to mend. My sister read her for filth and told her "You're just a bitter old bitch." Mom stopped volunteering there soon after.

So yeah, whether they're supposed to or not? There's always a few sticky fingers in that backroom.

I'm the homeless Trump supporter, defecating into a golf bag while pretending to read a book (upside down).

I am the group of frauen and 1 or 2 Datalounge gays swarming across the store when they announce on the loudspeaker that there is a new rack of goods coming out.

I am the sign that says no trying on more than 3 articles of clothing at a time.

I am the vintage clothing store owner, scouring the aisles, looking for the best pieces of clothes, so I can buy them $5 a piece and then re-sell them for $50 or more.

r39: Housing Works is notorious for skimming off the cream before the stuff hits the floor - and pricing anything half-way decent at twice what you'd pay for it on Ebay.

I'm the moss green bubble glass vase that originally came with a cheap FTD floral delivery in the 1970s. And they have me standing chock-a-block with a commemorative ceramic Jim Beam decanter, and a natural wood chip and dip set, which, who does that ? Oh and for you Democrat bitches, a copy of Hillary's "It Takes a Village," complete with fake sentiments.

[quote]If you bought something at a thrift store that turned out not to work do you think they'd give you your money back? Fuck 'em.

Goodwill actually does exchanges, with the receipt.

For those of you wondering how it is legal to exploit the disabled workers- most of them receive SSDI checks and cannot make more than a specific amount in wages. If they do, they lose their checks, medical coverage, and section 8 housing/group home allotment. Employers take advantage of this boon by making sure their "special" employees never get close to exceeding their limit. They are often paid several hundred dollars under the top amount they could legally earn. Think about thst the next time you use earplugs or buy a Happy Meal for a child- items are assembled for $1.30 per hour by someone who never make enough to purchase most of them.

Allow me to "Oh, dear!" my typos now, so you don't have to.

I'm the long rack of shirts sorted by color rather than size.

R110, the way you type, I’d hesitate to call anyone else ‘retarded,’ you ass.

R107, on a director’s salary, you would think you’d get your shift button fixed.

[quote]He sells me for several 1000 dollars

Oh, dear!

R122: her best album that I think has a cult following. I’ve had it since it came out in 1980, love that you found it at GW. Although most of the records they have are in terrible condition.

R138 So sue me for not being Hemingway,Cuntessa.They were retarded,what the fuck else was I supposed to call them? You dont like my writing style,block me then bitch !

I'm the clogged arteries of the patrons.

It’s Goodwill, R142, not “Let’s be Chick-Fil-A”

I'm the set of fancy Christmas china too delicate to put in the dishwasher, never used, because nobody wants to spend Christmas day doing dishes.

I’m the Persuasive Percussion LPs on Phase 4 Records in mint condition that get snapped up rather quickly by vinyl collectors.

Half of a Chicken/Rooster ceramic salt and pepper shaker set.

I'm a faded plastic placemat.

I’m a laser disc player.

Ooh, which half are you, R146? I’m looking for you.

I'm the acres of glass vases people received with a cheap floral arrangement. I am doomed to a sad and lonely existence, until I meet my end when some kid shatters me while playing with a soccer ball nearby.

I’m the floppy disk case waiting patiently for my second act. I’ve been told it will begin right after all of those coal jobs come back. So exciting!

I'm the faux wood cassette tape holder waiting to be repurposed by a crafter-frau.

I’m the tangle of curling and flat and crimping irons.

And now I’m headed to Goodwill and Housing Works. Later, bitches!

Savers. Hispanic workers who don't know a Chinese shoe from an Italian high end designer. About 2K supplemental income per year just off of footwear I list periodically.

Pleated pants.

r155 What are you talking about?

I'm the funk stench emitted from the clothing racks and the high octane dust particles irritating your eyes and sinuses.

[quote] high octane dust particles

????

I'm the unwashed armpits of the overweight Deplorable woman who is trying to haggle down the price of a box of adult diapers.

Well, in her defense, those diapers already had shit in em.

Off topic but their website (the local regional one, anyway) says they take artificial Christmas trees, but they refused ours.

Prissy cunts!

[quote] Savers.

Didn't they close completely down last year?

I am the shelf of abandoned stuffed animals.

I’m the dinette set with barrel shaped, vinyl-padded, chairs on caster wheels and a round Formica table in dark brown that was rescued from my dead grandmother. It was the shit in 1971, and she always told us how she got a great deal on it on closeout.

I'm gobs of commemorative plates, priced at four bucks apiece. I'm not worth much and probably came from the estate of a lovable dish queen. My nieces and nephews couldn't ditch me fast enough, but another lovable dish queen will snap me up soon enough!

I'm an Arby's Xmas glass with only traces of gold trim remaining.

Do you mean a Wintah Tulip Tumblah, R167?

Fuck the Goodwill, hit the hospital thrift stores. Lots of nice radios, CDs, players, clothing, etc. Once someone dies, their relatives need a place to donate and the pickings are usually pretty high quality.

I'm the dead gay guy's ignorant family who called Goodwill to come get all his expensive stuff (might have AIDS on it).

Went to a hospital thrift shop in Naples, FL scoring a couple of new(ish) LL Bean shirts for a very low price. Also got a V neck sweater for $5 that I noticed had a noticeable though not huge hole in the front. Went online to read about fixing those, did an OK not great job for first time, now I know how!

I like thrift shops as the stuff in stores isn't geared towards me in terms of style and color. For one thing, ties these days are too narrow.

[quote]I like thrift shops as the stuff in stores isn't geared towards me in terms of style and color.

Well, of course not. It’s a look you’re going for. We get it.

I am the large assortment of Anchor Hocking Wexford Crystal next to 10 sealed copies of Drop Dead Gorgeous on DVD and a large box of some of the worst Super Nintendo games ever to have been released.

I’m the 5 bins of stainless steel knives and salad forks. Where are the teaspoons and dinner forks?

We're the three ratty, hole filled, stiff, old, fur coats in the back by the bride's maids dresses. We were once worth a lot of money & covetted. Now you couldn't even give us away if we were in new condition.

Does anyone ever go to the gay Out of the Closet thrift stores? Do they have more interesting stuff?

I am the smarter than the average lice that thinks, "really, you get a tax cut for this shit."

I think it’s louse when singular, like mouse.

I'm the gun that was hidden in a bag of clothes that accidentally discharges in the sorting room

I love this thread.....

OP, I remember so many women I knew (including my stepmother) trying the low-fat French fries in that book, which were made by roasting julienned potatoes with egg-whites brushed onto them. They were supposedly incredibly nasty--no one liked them.

Any one of these but original editions....

I’m one of the 12 copies of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books.

I am the charming and handsome 9 year old autistic boy who comes into work with my mother during summer break. I am fascinated by the vacuum cleaners and know many facts about them. I am at the ready to assist in any way when customers come in looking for one.

I'm half of a cocoa-brown, velour 1970s sectional sofa. The other half of me is unsalable because a junkie vomited on me in 1992.

I'm a scratchy 1969 vinyl album by the Ray Conniff Singers, with a picture of some demure, Sharon Tate-looking girl on the cover, who's probably somebody's grandmother by now.

I'm a shitload of VHS tapes of crappy movies that no one would even want to see, even if they had something to play them on.

I'm a bad acrylic painting, whose only value is if someone wants a cheap canvas to gesso over and reuse.

If you ever pass through Harrisonburg VA on I81, go to Gift and Thrift. It benefits Mennonite charities and it's a lot of fun.

At Goodwill, I'm the stack of old lady shoes, in incredibly tiny sizes.

I'm the dinnerware and glassware divided on the shelves by color as taught at the Goodwill School of Merchandising.

I'm a vinyl copy of THE BEST OF ROBERTA FLACK. There's a big ol' scratch across "Where is the Love", and part of "The First Time Every I Saw Your Face", so neither of those songs are playable.

I'm odd junk drawer items in a small clear plastic pouch for $2. I contain a set of brown and orange plastic S&P shakers, a cute felt fiber burro with toothpicks in its saddlebags, a card of six navy blue suit sleeve buttons, a pair of pink, green, yellow, and white enameled tin vise screw daisy earrings, a tiny, tacky ceramic Gibson girl era button-up boot, an embroidery craft kit the size of a coaster that's of a water wheel mill scene, and one of those round spiky yarn weave things.

I'm another one of the assortment of doo dads in a clear bag. Mine has one of those old-fashioned super cheap plastic dolls; the ones with the kewpie doll bug eyes and Goldielocks hair. She's nude. There's also a gently used deck of Uno, a battery operated blue and white mini fan on a neck rope, a light bulb receptacle ring for essential oils, a red grease pen/chia marker, and a thumb toy of a dog made from beads and thread that moves and comes to life when you press the base with your thumb.

*china (not chia)

I am the Iomega zip drive that never caught on in the 90's

I'm the VHS tape of What's Up Doc? that my new owner (literally) screamed over when she found me. I will be watched repeatedly on her VCR/DVD player.

I'm a big box of remote controls for various TVs and VCRs that either don't work, orlonger even exist. No one even ever bothers to look at me. I"ll remain here in this box on this shelf long after human life ceases to exist on this planet.

I'm Whipped Cream and Other Delights.

I'm the overpowering stench of feet that permeates the shoe section.

I am the LaJolla, CA Goodwill.

I am more posh than most stores any of you bitches will ever step foot in for your entire LIVES.

I am the underpaid, exhausted cashier who fears that the stink of Goodwill Industries will never come out of her own clothes. I am besieged several times a day by hoarders who ask that I break policy and put items they want behind the counter so that they can shamble out and get another $40 out of the ATM to pay for their questionable treasures. I won’t do it (I need this tucking job), but I will recommend that they “hide” the item somewhere until they can get back.

^ I need this FUCKING job, my tuck job is all right.

I'm the smell of urine, which no one can quite figure out where it's coming from, but which hits,everyone like a freight train as soon as they walk in.

I am Housing Works in Chelsea. I don't deal in this type of shit. I have store windows that rival Lord & Taylors.

I am the idiot manager who has decreed that clothing shall be sorted and displayed according to color, not by size.

This is not a skill that can be transferred by an employee to any other work place but the Salvation Army store.

I'm the huge selection of Teflon pots and pans that have almost all the non-stick coaching scratched.

I am a big-ass ziplock bag of thread spools,needles, pins, and other sewing notions dating nack to the Nixon Administration. Many of my packages still have original store tags from Zayre's, Woolworth, Bradlee's, King's, and K-mart. I will remain her until I'm eventually tossed out during spring cleaning three years frm now, because, does anyone actually sew anymore?

R207 never say never on those sewing notions! I found a bag once full of sewing crap,and there were 2 gold thimbles,4 silver thimbles and some gorgeous buttons from the 18th and 19th century in it. All for $3 ! I always look at those bags!

I am the knock-off Levis.

I'm a shrunken cashmere/wool blend pullover sweater that's midriff length but also got stretched out in width and the sleeves are way long.

I'm the Knights of Columbus nylon baseball jacket at the St Vincent de Paul store located two strip malls down the road.

We're the hardback copies of every single Danielle Steel novel. We we weren't sure about living here at first, but now we love it and we'll never leave!

r114, that GW manager is the exception to the rule, at least in my experience.

I’m Janet Jackson’s Unbreakable. There are dozens of me.

I second that info on rural GWs. My favorite find of all, found in a rural one in an isolated place, is very old, intricately hand painted famille rose china. This was resold for a tidy sum on Ebay to a buyer in China.

I'm a young, 20-something woman digging through the costume jewelry, looking for something that coordinates with my outfit, which consists of orange hair, blue lipstick, grungy denim overall cutoffs, worn over black fishnet hose and Keds. And, no, I don't attend clown college.

I'm the stacks of Jackie Collins novels.

I was mommy porn back in the day, way before that Fifty Shades shit.

I always look for shorts my size. Once, found a pair, and as I hate short pockets, (stuff falls out of them too easily) I always put my hand down them to see how long the pocket is. Found $50 in a pair once.

I'm an upscale hausfrau who collects. I want to MURDER that smirking dishqueen who just put a never used mint condition Wedgwood tea set for 12 into his caddy. He's a dealer, I know it! (He's not a dealer, he gifts it to newlywed bohemian couple a few months later, who will use it for coffee in their rustic artist loft and steadily break it.)