Being One Of Them

Today I was a consumer. Not just normal Michael-type consumption; today I was one of them.

Typically for me, shopping consists of several visits to the local thrifts shops. It entails being open-minded enough to letting the store lead me toward the style I want, as opposed a pre-conceived notion of what “I need”. Thrift shops serve many supportive functions. They are the original and most effective form of recycling I know of. Modern day recycling of glass, plastic, paper and cans, use more energy resources than producing new products. This gives us the illusion, an unspoken license to use, use, use, as long as we put the USED item in the city-recycling bin. So, I have a genuine appreciation for the real recycling that transpires at thrift shops.

Thrift shops are also an effective means of sweatshops. Simply put, if nothing new is sold, therefore, production goes down and the twelve year old who works eleven-hour days for one dollar will actually see his/her family that day. Less use, less abuse.

It is so much fun walking out of a thrift shop with an Old Navy or J. Crew pair of jeans for $2.99. It is my way of giving corporate America the finger. They will not get my money. My Soul is too precious, and I have worked too hard to reclaim it. It is no longer up for grabs, especially not for them. This is my way to let The Gap, Tommy Hilfiger, Nike, Wal-Mart, Kmart or any other mart feel the consequences of their actions; I am not for sale thank you!

No ownership. Thrift shops are typically not owned by anyone. There are the privately owned “vintage” shops, but they are a different breed that typically charges more for a lime green polyester sport coat from 1978 than you would pay for anew one-and a more attractive version too. I feel good about giving my money to no one. Mr. or Mrs. No One cannot do much cannot do much with the money I give them. In fact, they do the reverse, they hire people that typically not very employable or volunteers. And, they give their profits away. They actually give the money they make away to an organization or church or temple or something non-profit. For me, if there is no Co-op in town, this is how Michaels shop.

But not today. I tried the thrift shops in search of something specific to no avail. I tried to bend to meet the available selections but it really wasn’t what I needed. So, I broke my rule and went into franchise/chain stores.

People like me do not do well in these kinds of stores. The music annoys me since I am not seventeen anymore. The fragrances offend me since I like the way humans actually smell, as well as air. The energy is sterile prostitution and the semi-dressed, twenty year old girls that haven’t eaten since 2005 sales associates remind me of everything wrong with this country. Their pre-programmed smile, verbiage and perky demeanor smell of Hell- the place where Spirit and love are devoid. Corporate Hell. I visited C.H. today, willingly. The first sweet young thing with cleavage, midriff and the curves of the brim of her butt exposed was entertaining, even a little seductive in a sick kind of creep middle-aged guy kind of way. I mildly reciprocated her flirting for a brief moment. Then I said to myself, “OK, so these are not really what I wanted to buy, but she is really cute, friendly and attentive… maybe I need to be more flexible in my purchases.” Then I noticed how tightly she was clutching her shiny, red cell phone for dear life and remembered how old I am, and NO; these are not what I need to buy- regardless of cleavage, midriff or butt-crack! After a few of these experiences replicated to varying degrees, I found a store that had what I was looking for and I bought it. I bought it knowing that a woman or child with their sweat made it in China and suffering on the sandals, even before I will wear them. Knowing that this corporate chain has put mom and pop shoe stores out of business all over the country. Knowing that I am now “one of them”- Corporate Consumer. I am almost was in tears when I left wearing my new Spalding sandals.

After further review, the replay shows indisputable evidence I AM NOT ONE OF THEM! I rode my beat-up, black Trek bike what ended up to be five or six miles to get there – I could have used my van. My shirt and shorts were bought at Savers last spring. I did not accept the temptation of BOGO just because I could. I put my old sandals in my canvas bag that a local grower at the Eastside farmers Market in Madison, WI gave me two seasons ago as a gift for being such a strong supporter of local growers and her. I do not need your plastic shopping bag, a second pair of footwear at half off or anything else. Eleven dollars. Brand new Spalding athletic sandals for eleven dollars. An incredible deal but at what cost to those whose sweat mixed with my while pedaling my bike in the hot Virginia sun?

I am not one of them
I am not one of them

Me and my Soul are not for sale. We are not on the open market.
WE ARE NOT FOR SALE ANYMORE!