I worked in a thrift store, and we got a new store manager. She was a liability in nearly every way imaginable. Every single day, the store was littered with projects she would begin only to walk away from them and forget them about half an hour in, so our store would be full of half-assembled displays, tripping hazards, and collapse hazards. One metal rack did collapse with a crash, nearly injuring several customers and scaring nearly everyone on the floor. But if you dared to lay so much as a finger on [Store Manager]’s messes to try to make them better or safer, she would berate you for twenty minutes straight for messing with her “workflow.”

She decided that we were going to price items her way, and no other way was acceptable. So, I complied.

I came in to do my shift and signed in. [Store Manager] pounced on me as soon as the computer indicated that I was now On The Clock.

Store Manager: “So, [My Name], I wanted to talk to you about this…”

Me: *Silent sigh*

She walked over to a set of shelves behind the counter, where my higher-priced items were usually nestled. One particular purse brand had multiple shells that could be switched out, so you could have one purse, but a shell could make it red, blue, or any other color, depending on your attire for the evening. It wasn’t a high brand, but since it was an item with multiple accessories, I put them all together in a display to sell as a lot.

Store Manager: “You know, a lot of people wanted to see this, but when they saw that it was $5, they all decided they didn’t want it. They said $5 was too much for a purse that doesn’t have handles.”

Me: “[Store Manager], that’s a shell, not a purse. It’s a [Brand] shell. Remember that [Brand] clutch that had several different shells, and I sold them as a bundle? You told me that $10 for the lot wasn’t enough and you bumped it up to $25?”

Store Manager: “Well, they think $5 for the shell is too much.”

I held onto my temper as hard as I could. I had TOLD her that I had a year and a half of experience and that I knew what would sell, what wouldn’t sell, and what prices would get the product moving. She had given me a twenty-minute riot act about how it was now HER store and we were to do it HER way or be fired. Now, she was trying to give me another riot act about how customers were complaining about prices that SHE had demanded we set.

I walked to the computer we used to look things up and pulled the only site [Store Manager] was now allowing me to price my stuff with.

Me: “Large [Brand] shells start at $7, [Store Manager]. I priced this one at $5.”

I pointed at a screen full of $7 [Brand] shells. I could practically hear the screeching of tires and the shrill beeping of a vehicle in reverse as [Store Manager] backpedaled like mad.

Store Manager: “Oh, uh, um, of course. I was just… just… uh… saying how it wasn’t moving, is all.”

Me: *Shrugging* “It’s as cheap as I can make it according to your direct instructions.”

[Store Manager] very quickly found somewhere else to be, without another word.

I’m not going to lie; I spent the rest of the day smirking and doing a happy dance. She would rarely be forced to admit fault, so I took what small victories I could get.

When I was a kid, we didn’t have a lot of money, so we often shopped at thrift stores. What I loved about it was that you could get five books for a dollar, so I would plant myself in front of the book section and make piles of which ones I wanted to get and then decide after I’d gone through them all.

The older lady owner of the store saw me sitting with my piles.

Owner: “Do you like to read?”

Me: “I do!”

I showed her a few of the books I’d found that I liked. She smiled and then pulled a dollar out of her purse and handed it to me.

Owner: “Have some more on me. Promise me that you’ll keep reading.”

I was so happy and immediately stood up and said that I would. She smiled and walked away, and I went back to my piles, able to pick out an extra five books to take home. 

It was just a small act of kindness for her, but for me, having the store owner encourage my love of reading and making me promise to never stop definitely had a lot to do with my continued love of reading. This was probably twenty or so years ago, but I still think of her whenever I buy a new book.

Customer: *Holding up a dress* “Do you have this in a larger size?”

Me: “No, ma’am. As we’re a thrift store, everything we have in stock is on the shelves.”

Customer: “Oh… not even in the back?”

What did I JUST say?!

Me: “No, ma’am. As I said, everything we have in stock is on the shelves. We don’t keep anything in the back.”

Customer: “So, could you order one in for me?”

Me: “Ma’am, please let me explain. We’re a thrift store where our proceeds go to [Charity]. All of our items are donated. We can only stock what gets donated, so we have no control over what we sell.”

Customer: “Oh… Well, I don’t want to support a charity, so…”

And with that, she just casually drifted out of the store.

While working at a thrift store, we would have all kinds of customers, from the usual normal plain John/Jane to the truly bizarre. This is one of the latter.

I was on registers and the day was about as usual when, all of a sudden, the flow of customers completely stopped like someone had turned off the faucet. Normally, I have enough awareness to see the next customer’s cart to determine if another register would need to be opened, but one of my faster coworkers was already open, so I was hyper-focused on the items themselves. Once the customer was finished, I saw the next customer.

This customer was about six feet tall (maybe taller) so they had a fairly intimidating presence, they were wearing a sundress, and behind their hair, which was covering their face, they were wearing what I could best describe as a mask that was a combination of Mankind and Kane (wrestlers). Every movement was like Jason/Michael Myers in that it was slow, yet methodical.

I let out a small “Oh” and got ready. I asked how they were doing and got no response. Okay, so the silent customer. I sped through the purchase and announced the total. Still without a word, the customer slowly paid for their purchase, slowly grabbed their bags, and slowly left.

Customers started to fill my line after the customer left, and they were all talking about the customer like it was a horror movie.

My only thought was, “Another wonderful day at [Store].”

I go to the local chain thrift store frequently to donate stuff. I usually just drop things off at the counter and never bother asking for the donation receipt they offer.

One day when I go in, there is a table near the entrance with paperback books on it, and the sign says, “Special: five books for $1.00”. I rummage through it but can only find four books that interest me. I take them up to the checkout desk, fully intending to pay $1.00 for only four books, even if she rings it up as 80 cents.

Cashier: “That’ll be $4.00.”

Me: *Pointing* “The sign on the table says they’re five for a dollar.”

She informs me, in a voice that a high school librarian would be proud of:

Cashier: “They’re a dollar each. You have to buy five to get the special price.”

So, I simply walk over to the table and select a book at random to add to the four already on the counter. I am holding a dollar bill, but she informs me:

Cashier: “It’ll be $1.06 because of the state tax.”

I’m now positive she is a retired high school librarian.

There is a penny jar next to her, but she doesn’t offer to pull six cents out for me.

I probably have six cents in my pocket or another dollar bill, but I don’t even check. I take a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet and hand it to her. She asks me, escalating to a world-class high school librarian voice:

Cashier: “Don’t you have anything smaller?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

She gives me $18.94 back in change and then turns away from me, not even offering to put my purchase in one of the paper bags that are stacked behind her.

I immediately place the fifth book on the counter.

Me: “I’d like to donate this book. And can I get a donation receipt, please?”

She has no choice but to completely fill out the receipt for my donation and sign it. She values the donation at 20 cents, and I don’t bother to point out that the thrift shop values the books at $1.00. After she gives me the receipt:

Me: *Very nicely* “Could I have one of those paper bags to carry my books out, please?”

She gave me a withering look, so I just told her to have a nice day and walked out with the four paperbacks.