For anyone who has never experienced the thrift shopping mecca (Jet Rag on Sundays), feel free to live vicariously through this story.
photo via
Dudeguy and I left the house at 10:00am – I would have chosen to leave earlier, but he’s slow. We arrived around 10:25 to be greeted by a throng of people covering the parking lot the way ants would a half-eaten peppermint candy.
“This should be interesting,” I thought to myself. We parked about a block away and walked down.
It was nice out; sun shining, no clouds and a big blue sky. I inhaled a deep breath and decided to mill around the rows of clothes on the ground flanked by bins on the far right near the store wall and people sitting on nylon wrapped cubes to the left.
“How strange,” I thought. “I wonder if they’re tired.”
Dudeguy points over to the people.
“You see them over there?”
I nod.
“They’re waiting on the people to come out and open those bags. You’ll see what happens next.”
Little did I know I was about to watch an interesting social experiment in human devolution.
About ten minutes passed. Suddenly, I heard a loud “POP!” I whirl around and find that 80% of the people had rushed over to the far left and were screaming and laughing and groping at the cubes. I recoiled in mixture of wonder and horror watching them. The next POP! More screams ensue. Then POP! POP! POP! The noise reaches a level that would drive most to the brink of insanity and everyone bends at the waist frantically clawing, grabbing, lifting, and snatching clothes off of the ground. I try not to get trampled as the people, arms full of clothes, break off into groups, some dumping their newly acquired booty into bins and others on the floor. They then feverishly pick at the piles, saving the treasures and tossing the trash to the rows that I saw when I first arrived.
“This shit is nuts!”
Dudeguy spies something he likes in a pile nearby. He goes to pick it up and is fiercly halted by a young woman who, in her most territorial voice cries, “Don’t touch that! That’s my pile, sir!” and snatches the three inches of fabric he managed to grab out of his hand. In the process, she rips the garment.
“Well that was a good job,” he shouts back. “You just ripped it, stupid broad.”
At this point, I turn away. He’s easily excitable and doesn’t give a flying fuck (his words) who he’s talking to or where he is. I tell him that I’m really not trying to fight anyone over $1 clothing. He agreed to let it go after a few more snide remarks and we both move on.
After about an hour and a 10 degree rise in temperature, I got irritable. People constantly tossing things back into the rows and hitting me in various places on my body was REALLY getting on my nerves. Dudeguy must have seen my ire and decided that it was time to go. We left, everything that $11 could buy in tow.
All in all, my maiden voyage was a good one. Actually, even with my mild rise in blood pressure, I had a great time. I picked up some insight on the human condition and learned how to conduct myself the next time I go: snatch and grab like a madwoman. Usually I can’t rationalize stooping to such animal-like behavior, but at Jet Rag $1 Sundays, only the strongest get the good stuff.
I guess Darwin was right.
3 Responses to “Tales from the Thrift”
You need to tell me a little more bout this cuz you know I’m cheap as hell.
Every Sunday near LaBrea and Melrose. Let me know if you ever want to come to L.A. and roll out.
OMG…I go to that sale and you gave a very accurate dipiction indeed! Kudos. I can’t even tell you the amount of insane fights I’ve witnessed at that place over one-dollar items…it’s actually very good live theatre.
I also have scored a few good peices but just can’t bring myself to fight and dive into throngs of crazed lunatics for a peice of clothing.
Everyone I tell about the sale or bring to the sale things I’m exaggerating and then when they witness the event are flabbergasted at the venom and vigor people fight over the clothes.
Thanks for posting a blog, I found it highly amusind!!