Page 24 of Never Bargain with the Boss
When he turns his piercing blue eyes my way, I explain, “So we can shop and sip slowly. Not suck it down because we’re tired after hours of work.”
He seems to have totally missed the logical reasoning behind my suggestion, focusing only on one piece of what I said. “Hours? I thought we were going to one store?”
I flash him a devilish smirk. “We are. It’s gonna be epic.”
A quick stop, a Frappuccino, and two coffees—Cameron’s black, and mine with cream and sugar—and we arrive at the thrift store right as it opens. Along with about twenty other early bird shoppers.
“Are they giving stuff away?” Cameron jokes dryly. But when an older woman in a nylon wind suit shoves past him with a hard shoulder bump, he frowns.
“Move it, GQ,” she mutters, hustling toward the purses. Every step is accompanied by theswish-swish-swishof the slick material of her pants.
Cameron looks left and right in confusion, and I don’t hide my laugh.
“Thrifting is a competitive business, and I bet they just got a fresh shipment,” I explain. “It might not be whatever it is you do…” I have no idea what Cameron actually does, but it’s obviously something fancy and smart. “But it can be cutthroat.”
He doesn’t look like he believes me, so I point over to the purses. He turns just in time to see Ms. Wind Suit arguing with another woman, each of them with a white-knuckled death grip on a handle from a single purse. They pull, fighting over what appears to be a Louis Vuitton but is probably fake, and Cameron moves closer to Grace, putting himself between her and thetussle like she might be in mortal danger from the women who are now both repeating ‘I had it first’ in a never-ending loop.
“Follow me,” I tell them cheerfully, leading the way to the clothing section, which is thankfully the opposite way of the purse situation. At the first rack, I remind Grace, “If you like it, grab it, but don’t fall in love until we do a detailed look-over to make sure it’s in good condition or salvageable.” She nods as though my bare-bones instructions are of the utmost importance.
“What about me?” Cameron asks, sneering at the racks of brightly colored clothes like they might jump out and attack him. Actually, he looks like he’s mortally offended, as though the smells of mothballs and sweat might permeate into his flesh if he stays here too long. Granted, it’s not Barney’s or Sax with their commercial-grade air purifiers and deodorizers, but Lysol Sanitizer in a wash load can go a long way toward cleaning thrifted items, and for some of us, places like this are the only way we can afford a wardrobe.
For me, for a long time, even shopping at a thrift store was a luxury beyond my means. Now, I could shop at department stores, but why? I’d rather find unique pieces and create a style all my own. And yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I spend my time choosing items with a past, that have been thrown away in a donation pile, and rehome them to where they’ll be loved, like the clothing version of the social workers I used to have assigned to me as a foster child. I’m well-adjusted, but not undamaged by my past.
“Shopping cart duty,” I proclaim.
He looks back toward the front door and then to Grace like he’s measuring the distance between the two points before he quickly strides off to get a cart. As he crosses the store, I keep one eye on him, not entirely convinced he won’t make a run forit. I don’t think he’d abandon Grace, but he’d definitely leave me here without a second thought or a ‘See ya later.’
Grace and I get started, flipping through items as we slide the hangers down the metal rod. “What about this?” she asks approximately four shirts in.
I eye the tie-dyed, cropped T-shirt with a cartoon cat and mouse emblazoned on it. “Do you likeTom and Jerry?”
“Who?”
“Seriously?” I ask, pointing at the labeled characters.
She frowns, puts the shirt back, and continues to look through more. Cameron returns, and I set my coffee plus the shirt I found into the cart. “How do you know what to get?”
I don’t stop sorting through the rack, but I explain, “I shop for two things—myself and resale. For myself, I need to truly love it. That’s it. For resale, I look for things in high demand, like Western brands, single stitch T-shirts, especially concert or band merch, and the current big seller is ‘grandparent chic’ pieces.”
“Grand. Parent. Chic?” He sounds out the words like they’re totally unfamiliar to him.
“Mm-hmm, like crochet pieces, skirts that look like floral couch fabric, Grandpa tweed trousers.” I feel Cameron’s eyes on me, and when I glance up, he’s looking at me like that explanation didn’t help in the slightest. In fact, it might’ve only confused him more. “You’ll see. I’ll show you when I find it.” There’s always a stash of good finds if you’re willing to look hard enough, and I am a thorough and experienced thrift shopper.
But while I’m shopping, Grace is simply flipping through clothes aimlessly, her eyes ping-ponging from the rack to me, and I realize she’s simply mimicking me. When I glance to Cameron, I find him sipping his coffee while staring at his phone.
Nope, this won’t do. Not on my watch. We’re having a fun outing, not whatever this is quickly dissolving into.
“New game plan,” I announce, grabbing their attention. I move to the closest rack, and looking at Grace, I say, “Tell me when to stop.” While she’s still processing, I start walking my fingers along the hangers, one at a time.
“Stop!” she says, smiling even though she has no idea what I’m up to.
I pull out a white T-shirt proclaimingJones Family Reunion 2013in royal blue and hold it out, nearly forcing it into her hands. “Your mission is to create an outfit using that.”
Her smile falls instantly. “This is ugly, and my name isn’t Jones.”
She’s right on both counts, but I tilt my head, surveying her. “It’s for fun. Make a silly outfit, a cute one, an awful one. What could you match this with to make it better?” I drop my voice to a whisper like the two of us are conspiring against the game I’m creating on the fly and challenge, “Or worse?”
She snorts out a laugh, eyeing the shirt critically. “I don’t think anything could make it worse.” But she heads toward another rack to scavenge.