Thriftoholics Anonymous

It was that time of the week - Thursday, 4:30 pm at ‘Frizzy Jackson’ auditorium in the town of Thriftville, population of 35.460. The way I parked my white 2004 Honda Civic resembled a scene from ‘Fast & Furious.’ I got out of the vehicle and ran into the building. One of many reasons why wearing flats is the right choice. The meeting was in the first room to my left. I sneaked in to the room, naively hoping to be unnoticed. All eyes were glued to me. I had no choice but to greet everyone - that is, three attendees and one host - with a short-lived, affiliative smile you see when you pass a coworker you don’t like in an office corridor.  The group who sitting by an oak round table. 

‘Where are the others?’ I asked, as a way to initiate a friendly, small talk.

’Probably thrifting,’ I heard a coarse female voice followed by a giggle. It was no one else, but Suzie; the only repeat attendee I spotted. She was a 55-year-old high school teacher of a small posture, always neatly dressed. Today she wore a straw hat with three faux, yellow roses on its left side, a very Chanel-like, red tweed blazer, black pencil skirt and white Mary Janes. I might be slow at making it to meetings, but fast at checking out an outfit. Suzanne was a true delight to a fashion enthusiast’s eyes. I could have bet a thousand dollars that her outfit was predominantly thrifted. If not completely. Along with her style came attitude. 

Angelina, our social worker aka the host, stood up and walked towards a long table decorated with snacks and non-alcoholic drinks. She picked up a muffin and a cup of hot coffee. I have not yet seen her without food in her hands. She liked to eat and she looked that way. Angelina was in her early thirties. Her attribute was shoulder length, curly, black hair. She was chubby and the extra pounds looked great on her.

‘Hello all. Glad you’ve made it to our weekly thriftoholics meeting. I see 2 new faces. I’m Angie. Why don’t you introduce yourselves and tell us what brings you here,’ she said, slowly chewing on the chocolate muffin, with evident delight.

‘Used clothes, what else, ha ha.’ I murmured. 

Angie gave me a stare of disapproval and threw out the muffin paper liner into a trash bin. With her eyes still piercing me, she clearly dumped my comment along with that paper. 

‘Let’s start from the left,’ Angie added.

After a few seconds of silence, a woman in her 60s with an angel’s face cleared her throat. She wore an orange sweater and red pants. Blue booties completed her look. If I were to guess her origin, I would shoot for the West Village. 

‘Hello, My name is Jackie…’

In a few-minute introduction, Jackie confessed how she thought she had ruined her life by spending all her savings in thrift stores. She visited her local charity shop twice a day - before and after work. Despite the store’s slow turnover of items, Jackie knew how to solve this issue. She bribed two employees - Betty and Michael - to bring out a bunch of recently donated clothes for her eyes to see. She would hand them a ten-dollar bill each. Yes, it was that bad. Yet we attentively listened, with full understanding and support. 

‘I can’t stop it. I’m drowning in thrifted dresses, thrifted bags and thrifted shoes. Some of which aren’t even my size. I mean, it is beyond any control.’ She bursted into tears. As she spoke, I had my eyes glues to her footwear. Her booties were of lapis shade and they were truly exceptional. 

‘Jackie. Your booties. Have you…?’ I dared to ask.

‘Yes, I have and for $8 only. They are half a size too big, but you can’t really tell.’

‘Yeah, I can’t. Been there, done that. What a score. Congrats’

Angie gazed at me with clear detest. I decided to mind my own business, at least until the end of the meeting. 

We moved on to George, a thirty-some year old plumber. He came to the meeting with two German Shepherds. I didn’t forget to mention them in the beginning; they were sleeping under his chair, so I spared the description for later when they would be up and around. Lola and Lopez were their names. George’s story was probably the most amusing one. He said he’s trained his dogs to sniff out vintage, designer pieces. Lola was a specialist in blazers and sweaters. She had Chanel, YSL, Dior on her account. A true accomplishment, I say. Lopez knew how to find vintage leather loafers. Both dog’s success ratios have been about 96%, according to George. 

Lopez was eyeing my shoes with same passion as I was checking out Jackie’s footwear. The dog approached me without hesitation. He barked four times, turned around and wagged his tail twice. A scene from a circus, I thought. Well, we were a part of it. 

‘Prada’? George asked. 

‘Damn! Good boy!’ I smiled.

We all chatted, laughed, comforted each other, saying ‘you’re not alone’ and all that jazz. After the meeting was over, we were about to part, when I said: ‘Who wants to hit the Salvation Army thrift store on Jefferson Ave? The air suddenly thickened. The ground shook as if earth split apart. George, Jackie, Angie, and Suzie blanked out and turned pale.

‘Guys…Chill.’ I laughed. 

We parted and went to the parking lot. Shortly after, you could see five cars going in one direction - Jefferson Ave.