Our story begins (as many do) behind a dubious Teriyaki stand in Tigard—a concrete cutaway yields to a secret cove: the parking lot of the Union Gospel Mission Thrift Store.
I forget exactly who it was that turned me on to this hoarder's oasis—maybe it was Brittney, possibly Simon (it hardly matters at this point except that I might duly thank them). The fact remains, that the Union Gospel Mission Thrift Store is of that rare and coveted type that satisfies two essential criteria: one, it has "good stuff" (this is of course completely subjective) and two, it doesn't seem to have any sense for the real value of the goods on display—or at least, it shrugs-off the potential for greater profitability.
The result (for me) is a smorgasbord of stuff-I-don't-really-need-but-can-easily-justify-not-having-to-live-without-if-the-price-is-right. The concept is a mouthful but it can be easily summed in two words—"price absolution."
Price absolution makes for the very foundation of my hoarding... ahem... thrifting habits. It means that if the price is negligible (i.e., $2, 50¢, etc.), then any guilt that might otherwise be associated with a given purchase is absolved. In other words, if I can walk out of a thrift store with a new hat, some cassette tapes, a book on the joy of indoor plants and a kitchen drawer full of primary-colored plasticware—all for under $5!—then why should it matter if I don't get around to reading (or clipping the images out of) the book for 17 years? People blow that much nightly at the video poker machine.
Oh well, who cares. I'm not trying to rationalize anything. The point is, until it starts to tear my family apart one day, I'm perfectly comfortable with my tendency to accumulate things.
I am however less comfortable with purchasing these frivolties from Christian-run thrift stores. I don't know why, I guess I just feel... guilty (I know right, like who's gonna judge me.) Principles, it turns out, can just as easily give rise to feelings of guilt as can morals, and in the case of the atheist who shops at the Christian-run thrift store to take advantage of the "guilt-absolving" pricing, there is likely a violation of principles. But just which principles?
To some extent, the weight I've been carrying with respect to my many and various UGMTS purchases, has everything to do with the erroneous presumption that the sole purpose of United Gospel Mission Thrift Store is to service the less fortunate—to do things like furnish the homes of those who could not afford to "buy new," or to clothe those who, without the help of that new blueberry-colored power suit and off-matching pumps, might have entered into that job interview with confidence suboptimal.
Accordingly, who am I to step in and take advantage of these perceived hand outs (often merely to to satisfy my aesthetic whims), when clearly the items supplied are intended for those less fortunate than myself. Plus, these hand outs are being provided in accordance with a Christian ethic that says help the needy—am I not scum?
So goes my self-important logic.
As it turns out, according to the Union Gospel Mission website "revenue generated by the thrift store helps men and women in the LifeChange recovery community," the addiction recovery arm of UGM. This means that, in effect, I'm doing my part to support a rich tradition of indoctrination. Should this cancel out any of the guilty feelings outlined above? Okay, so now I am rationalizing.
Basically, all items on display are received by donation and then sold, and the profits largely go to benefit the recovery program. Also, most if not all of the store's workers are part of the program.
In the end, my core reason for thrifting (as you might imagine) is quite distinct from helping Union Gospel Mission. Why buy new when there is plenty of decent stuff out there to get use out of. Rather than acquire a taste for everything new, why not acquire an appreciation for all things old, and enrich your experience of history in the process. In conjunction with the ever-clued-in internet, there is much to be gleaned from perusing old manuals, fondling relic electronics, and examining ephemera—such things are informative.
I've prepared a small collage of sights and sound for your meditative enjoyment.
