Solitude By Design

My husband went to college for accounting. So, I learned the meaning of the rhyme, dog name sounding, accounting term LIFO FIFO early in our marriage. It simply means “Last In, First Out.” The revised version for his wife: “If you bring something into the house, take something out of the house.” A Hoarder, he is not.

Since I consider myself the Martha Stewart of thrift stores, to “LIFO FIFO” my finds would be exhausting and unrealistic! How does one decide which items she will or will not need for a future, middle of the night, sneaking out of bed, decorating frenzy? Heaven forbid I part with the perfect cast-off that would have transformed my humble abode into a room worthy of “Home and Garden.”

Joy of joys! About a year before the Pandemic, while struggling with the monotony of my retirement, I got a job at our local non-profit thrift store! This bountiful place to shop and amass treasures, is now my employer. With an employee discount, no less! Besides contributing to the community and supporting a team of the sweetest souls I know, I could justify my shopping by reminding my husband “Hey, It’s a non-profit and It’s job security. It’s all good.”

My days were spent un-packing boxes and bags of donated items. While ticketing, I would dream of decorating the walls of our modest home with a vast array of colorful country scenes and portraits. New styles, vibrant colors, low prices, and one-of-a-kind choices! What more could I ask? But wait! It gets better!

Having previously spent the better part of my professional life in retail, my Boss would occasionally bounce ideas off me. Being summoned to his office usually meant it was “brain-storming time!” I loved it. Having owned my own business, our dialogue was unlike the lighthearted conversations I shared with my co-workers, or anyone else for that matter. So, when he leaned forward, and in a hushed, secretive tone asked “Do you think a thrift store dollar store would fly?,” I almost fell off my stool! “Yes! My goodness, yes! That’s brilliant!”

He proceeded to ask if I wanted to be “the lead” and design, stock, set-up, organize and hire a staff for the Dollar Store? I would create a sister store to the existing anchor store, just three storefronts down the mall. It was perfect timing. Because of the pandemic and my maturity, I had to pull away from working with the public. I missed the pleasantries shared with customers while ringing up and bagging their purchase. The back room was getting busy with volunteers, so I had resorted to taking merchandise home to price in my garage.

In the dollar store I could set my own hours and work before it opened and after it closed. Basically, whenever I felt it was safe. I was given a key to the packed warehouse and told I had one month to empty it and get the store up and running.

Can you imagine, my fellow “thrifters,” having an entire storefront and warehouse to yourself? I found myself working and shopping alone in the desolate early hours of morning and the dark silent hours of night? The sweet trade-off was I had first pick of just about everything. At a dollar per item, lest we forget the weekly sales, you could accrue massive amounts of things needed and unneeded.

Enter my husband’s “shopping mantra.” By the end of a shift there was always a stack of “have to have” items I had found while working in isolation. Boxes were in abundance from the unpacking of warehouse goods. I would always take one with even the smallest of purchases. Once home, with LIFO FIFO still ringing in my ears, I would un-pack my treasures, take the box to the garage, and commence to fill it with previous purchased items I could part with. At least I thought I could part with. Rarely did even the oldest of my acquisitions find their way out of the garage.

Here is where it gets tricky for a “wanna be flipper.” Things were starting to pile up, and unless I could be sure I would outlive Methuselah, I probably would not get to use all the things I had selected for my future transformations. So, to help reassure my adult kids I was not going to be featured on “Hoarders” anytime soon, I created a plan.

What if every day, like clockwork, I brought at least one thing out to the cardboard box in the garage? Imaging the loss of a critical piece I might need to decorate our home at a later date, made me cautious at first. But I soon realized it was like a tasty chunk of chocolate, you start with one small bite, savor its disappearance, and then dive in. My hope was to make it a habit. Not unlike chocolate. Placing the donation box closest to the garage door, and not the house entrance door, made it less likely I would just lean in and retrieve it as I went by. There were even times I would close my eyes tightly and hand off the item to my husband, to place in the box. This donor’s “flesh is weak.”

Now, I would be fibbing if I told you, once the item was placed in the box, or FIFO, it stayed there till I dropped it off for donation. Many a night I would lay in the dark, on the brink of sleep and decorate with phantom items. Even worse, many a night I would sneak out of bed, shut the bedroom door behind me and raid the garage donation box. It was pretty hard to deny, when my husband would wake the next morning to a totally different living room, kitchen or bathroom than the one from the night before. But, he is a good sport. Especially if I don’t ask him to move heavy furniture or hang pictures.

With the warehouse emptied on schedule, the store filled with product and manned with enthusiastic associates, I was comfortable moving on. It broke my heart to leave this job. A job that I once shared with many of my favorite people. Even with safety precautions in place and executed, high customer traffic levels were un-avoidable. I had to be safe, no matter how many wonderful things were still waiting for a home.

This plan to purge out months of accumulated treasure has been in the works for the last ten months. Not working on the floor of a store, as well as rarely going into a store, has greatly diminished my purchases. I have moved far more things out, than I have brought in. It is exciting watching the box fill up, knowing I will have a brief, distanced moment with an old friend as they retrieve my contribution. Also, I am comforted it is going to a special place, that cares for our community’s needs. This helps me release and share all the potential that beautiful things can offer.

So, if you ever struggle with letting go of the excess, or regret having parted with something unintentionally, just remember, there are thrift stores out there just waiting for your donation to help make a difference. So, let the FIFO begin! For there are boxes to be filled!