So it continues, because, not that I like it but I have some sort of civic obligation. And I like the people I'm working with.
It has quite literally destroyed my love of thrift shops - the donations - a never ending tide of used kitchen supplies - quality; rubbish, largely rubbish. Thrift shops are largely a dumping ground for unusable, unsaleable items. And no one - or - rarely anyone - washes their donations before bringing them in.
Everyone here is a hoarder...
I mean, who am I to talk? I know, I know. So - I'm not throwing shade, but to watch my paid partner unbox - laying aside items, he intends to price them, sell them, but he doesn't, they end up in one of several dozen boxes in the back he means to have appraised, to perhaps purchase or "up-cycle", it's hilarious, you watch his eyes and you can see the light of covetousness come on when something grabs his eye...
Another volunteer, they're all harridans, well-meaning daughters of the Church of ... asks my function - do I stage the furniture? Dress the shop?
I tell her - "Mine is more of a Cinderella role...".
My partner finds this funny.
These women, most of them volunteering to get first dibs on the best handbags, clothes, uncomfortably close to my age and so you have to be careful someone doesn't take it in their head to "set you up...".
I price shit, but I'm no authority, there's no telling, someone bought this shit once, they'll buy it again, I'm amazed, put it out and no sooner do you put it out then you walk past a shopping cart with the item in it. Why, I pluck items from the trash that my partner (the paid employee) has discarded to price and sell them - and he sees them come through the till with that de-ja-vu, there's no telling. I know quality, workmanship, what I like, but these are not indexes as to what sells.
4 hours grows long, no more a pleasure, a job, the cause, worthy, but - well, it's the necessary friction to move the wheels...