A Child of the Thrift Culture

Estate sales and storage lockers tend to have a very distinct aroma. Dust and memories coat every surface and draw in curiosity. When you grow up working in a second-hand store, you get to see more than your fair share of musty dusty collections of lost treasures.

By the time I was eight, I was regularly pulled from school to help my parents empty out the attic spaces of estate sales they’d run for clients, and prepare the things we’d pulled from storage lockers for the shop.

I discovered vintage toys and old game systems, more books that could fit in my room, and crafting treasures galore. I experienced some great finds and some… less that idea finds. We unburied hundreds of dollars in collectible coins and a near mint condition 1966 Ford Mustang that fired up and drove off from one unit, and a full mead still from another. On the other hand, we’ve swept grandma’s ashes from the floor and disposed of more than one mummified pet cat.

A Family Business

My folks built their business on the buying and selling of people’s lost treasures, and the ease of giving over the responsibility of selling your deceased parents’ belongings before you sell your home. I was submersed in the industry of second-hand finds and eBay sales long before it became a reality TV show for the entertainment of bored 30-somethings with more money than sense.

We’d sell our finds in our shop, built up in an old railroad laborer apartment building. Each week, we were closed Sunday and Monday. This gave us the chance to deliver furniture from the previous week’s sales, clean up and price things from the units and yard sales we had gone to the previous weekend.

By the time I was ten, I’d learned to count back change without a cash register, how to balance the books and do inventory control, and how to repair collectibles and furniture before we sold it. In the third grade, I’d built a computer from salvaged parts in storage units, and taught myself how to sell on eBay.

I was making a tidy sum selling some of the collectibles my parents found that wasn’t really fit for the shop, but still held value. I’d package the shipments and walk them to the local post office on my own every Friday after school.

The Novelty of the Job

I don’t know how many times I heard variants on “that’s gotta be so cool, getting all sorts of funky stuff from those units, like Christmas every weekend”. With some units and estate sales, it was a blast. Pulled a nearly brand new N64 and 32 inch TV from a unit after working on another unit for half the week, and my parents telling me I’d earned it and I could keep it was a great reward.

Most weeks, it was tedious and exhausting. I would come home and immediately start stripping down for a bath because these units are often gross. I would spend afternoons crawling through cobweb-filled attics and rat-dropping strewn garages. I learned to hitch a trailer before I had my driver’s license and wrecked my first car trying to parallel park a 24-foot Uhaul truck.

The Best Discovery

Thrift life is a lot of stuff. But stuff isn’t the best part of thrifting. Lessons and time with family is the best part. I learned to work hard from a young age. I developed grit, and drive. I developed a sense of pride in learning and mastering a new skill. Now, as a 30-something, I have more sense than money.

My friends and family can call on me for information or guidance to fix their broken furniture, or stitch up a minor tear in their couch cushion. They can ask me questions about old toys and appliances and I usually have the answers to their questions because I was exposed to these relics of the past that most in my generation don’t understand. Growing up in the thrifting business, I spend my time and energy repairing the things around me when I can, instead of tossing them in the trash.

I learned frugality through necessity. I learned ingenuity and determination. I learned to make do with what I had and to make the most of everything I was given. The best thing I ever got from a thrift store was my identity as a hard-working woman. I am strong and independent, and I owe that to my parents raising me in the family thrift shop.