This week, in addition to trolling The Drudge Report to make sure that the anti-Christ still hasn’t made an appearance, I scored some amazing household items–thanks to one family’s need to purge and move. Or move and purge. Kinda like a chicken-egg thing.
Now, some may say that scavenging through another family’s discard pile is tantamount to picking through your neighbor’s garbage, but I disagree. To me, it’s my way of keeping this planet safe from the rising mounds of trash in our nation’s landfills, albeit in a small way. It’s also my way of filling my home with things that someone else had taken the time to research, order, purchase, unwrap, read the complicated user manual (in seven distinct languages) in order to assemble, successfully assemble, and install. Culling through someone else’s leftovers saves me all that heartache. You see, in this house (unless copious amounts of alcohol are involved), assembling a complicated purchase usually results in those attempting to assemble said purchase to angrily stomp away from the wreckage and to their respective computers to Google ‘divorce attorneys’.
See? I’m also doing my part to keep the divorce rate down. I call that a win.
It helps if you know the people from whom you are scavenging. In my case, I did, so I trusted their combined wisdom to have made thoughtful decisions when purchasing the items they once couldn’t live without that now adorn my own home. The fact that their now empty house was once tastefully appointed is a bonus.
When I go through my house and count the number of items within that have once been owned by other people, I am pleased to note that the number is higher than the number representing items I purchased directly from a vendor, like a furniture store, or Macy’s. That I may know the original owner makes the counting even more fun, as in, “Those wicker chairs once belonged to Marla,” or “See that end table? It’s Duncan Phyfe, and it once graced the governors’ mansion.”
Okay, I made up that last one, but you get my point.
However, I maintain that there are some items that I refuse to buy secondhand. Like shoes. Ew. Shoes, over time, conform to the wearer’s feet, and often you can look at a pair of shoes and identify to whom they belong just by the worn out shape of the shoe. And they’re stinky. So there’s that.
Have you ever seen underwear at a garage sale? As in someone else’s underwear for sale? Are you kidding me? I don’t know about you, but when I decide to retire an undergarment, it goes in the trash. I don’t care if that bra and knickers are from Agent Provocateur, uh-huh.
Well, unless the tags are still on them.
My point is this: None of us should be so proud that we turn up our noses at the thought of procuring household items from a garage sale, an estate sale, a moving sale, or any other kind of sale that isn’t located in a mall or on Amazon. If you are, but you still like nice things, then don’t tick off the names of the previous owners of your precious plunder when you have guests over. But be smart about it.
“See my dining room table and chairs? That’s Duncan Phyfe. It’s been in my family for generations.” Fine. Now you sound like a snob, and it still belonged to someone else. Or, “Of course, that Aubusson carpet was dreadfully expensive, but we just had to have it,” and you drive a Dodge Neon.
Get my point?