Books, a Problem Solved is an editorial piece written by Tim Clark and shared with The Ugly Writers under the theme Retrospective for the month of September
Vacations are an escape, pure and simple. Even now, that I’m retired, and every day is Saturday. Getting away still brings euphoria. It’s one of the few times crawling into a car and braving the madness of the interstate highway system seems worthwhile. Locked in our little cage, isolated, at risk, and oblivious to the dangers roaring by inches away on either side of us. And, since we’re on vacation it makes some sort of sense, almost.
Destination is important, but it is secondary. We aren’t fussy. If there are some wooded trails to hike, some local ethnic restaurants, and thrift stores, we’re content.
Sooner or later, everything ends up in a land fill or a thrift store. Thrift stores are a melting pot, an American Stream of consciousness. Good and bad, worn or almost new, experienced work clothes with a healthy dose of reality, or an unwanted gift, maybe an errant purchase. So much sadness and regret, dreams and hopes dashed and abandoned, and left for us to rummage through, and pick over.
There are echoes of delight, as well. A new career requires a new wardrobe, and a closet only holds so many occupations. Prepare for launch. A successful diet needs new clothes, and saying goodbye to those memories can be the impetus for a person to keep a promise to themselves.
Thrift stores are the ultimate American Experience.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.[1]
There is an orderly flow, people donate, employees separate, categorize, according to a system of coordination, and display, and people buy. But, if you spend enough time in thrift stores, and we have, you know there is chaos too. Unrelated clothing, hung neatly on long racks, polo shirts next to t-shirts, next to button down oxfords. Jean shorts, sharing the rack with gym shorts and sweatpants. Hard Rock Café, Acapulco next to Church of Christ softball team shirt. And they all cost the same amount. It’s the ultimate in egalitarian organization.
Most thrift stores employ a standard rack for clothing, long, thin poles supported in several places by arms attached to heavy duty stands. Kitchen goods set, waiting for a new home, on sturdy shelves, in a prominent location.
Books are almost an afterthought, tucked away in a forgotten corner. The corner next to a few pieces of mismatched luggage and partially used bottles of shampoo and hand soap. Back there, aisles are narrow, and you may have to navigate past a jungle of forgotten technologies, 8-track tapes, movies on VHS, a few compact discs, and depending on the town there might be some cassette tapes.
If you are willing to walk to the oddest corner, the island of lost toys, you can find the shelves. Shelves stocked with treasures, lives lived, loves lost, champions crowned and vanquished, wars fought, and deaths recorded. Countless lives stacked neatly beside one another, on a shelf in the back of the back of the store. Most people never make it that far. They come to find a deal on work clothes.
For a book lover, it’s the ultimate treasure hunt. For the right book lover, if you are looking for signed, first editions you’re probably in the wrong place. If you’re just looking for books, books with a past, books that might have a story to tell that has nothing to do with the text, you might be at home. I like to find books that have been read, have a life of their own, if I find one with notes scrawled in the margins, or on the inside of the cover, those are my books.
At the Goodwill close to our grocery store, Wednesday is senior citizen day, and old people, like me and the guy in the mirror get a percentage off our purchase. A couple of weeks ago I bought two books for $1.86. You can afford to judge a book by its cover on Wednesday.
There was a thrift store in Kentucky, it was in an old bank. Management stashed the books safely in the back, in the safe. A metal box, 10 foot by 8 foot by 12 foot. I looked at the book titles with one eye, keeping the other fixed on the giant door. I found one book, and hurried out of the potential tomb. At the register the cashier told me I could just have it, “they are a dollar for a whole bag, and I don’t know how to charge for just one.” I gave her a dollar, asking her to pretend it was in a bag.
We’re going on vacation next month, and I’m already researching thrift stores along the way. There is a list on my phone of titles and authors I want to look for, but you take what you get in secondhand stores. I have a few books to take along with me, to read in the motel room.
It is time to admit, books are an addiction, reading them, looking at them in stores, buying them. As far as addictions go, I’ve had a lot worse, and I don’t want to stop. Age is beginning to catch up to me. Middle aged is a memory and senior citizenship is reality. I have a lot of books, more than I can ever read.
Since I have too many, and I enjoy the thrill of the hunt, searching through “quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore,”[2] I’ve decided to stage a giveaway. Nothing elaborate, but when I finish a book I’ll offer it to friends, acquaintances and family members. If there are no takers I’m going to leave it in a public place with a note: “I read this book and now I’m giving it to you, please pass it on to someone else when you’re finished
[1] The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus.
[2] The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.
Read more from Tim Clark by visiting his website at Life, Explained or by checking out his previous write-ups here at The Ugly Writers.
