After I finish my work for the day, I'll head over to the Savers thrift store in SLC just to walk around, maybe find a new addition to my closet or my apartment. I check out the furniture first, walk through the home items aisles, and then look through the clothes. However, I've found that there's this hidden competitiveness when it comes to sorting through the junk to find treasure.
Yesterday, I walked in around 6 p.m. and immediately saw the volunteer workers set down a vintage Steelcraft office chair with forest green fabric, dark wood arms and brushed steel rivets. The perfect chair. The one I'd been looking for. They were asking ten dollars for this beautiful work of art. I needed it. So I started rolling it around with me while I looked at the artwork and came across a hidden Matisse replica stuffed behind a stack of Home Sweet Home posters.
As I was inspecting the frame of the Matisse replica, I looked back and my prized chair was missing. Gone. Stolen. I ran around the store, Matisse in hand, searching for that damn chair.
Scanning aisle by aisle, I couldn’t find it. I walked to the front of the store to see if anyone had seen it. Nothing. I sat back and waited to see if someone would bring it to the checkout. Still nothing.
It's 7:30 now. The store closes at 8. I walk around again, scanning every aisle — still nothing. 7:45. I talked to the cute thrifter girl who works there, and she knew exactly what chair I was referring to. She said she saw a lady with a dog walking around with it.
"When was that?" I asked.
"A few minutes ago," she said.
It's 7:55. I jog around the store, and while I'm in the back corner, I notice a ball of white hair flopping up and down, bee-lining it to the front.
"Thank you for shopping at Savers. The time is now 8 p.m., and we are now closed. Please bring all items to the front. Thank you."
I sprint to the front. I see the old lady tap her card on the reader and hear the ring of the card acceptance. She looks around and smiles as her victory is secured.
I stand around the corner. Every employee knew what she did to me. I made it known. They seemed saddened by the outcome of this battle between the two of us.
I'm not one to create a scene, but emotions got the best of me.
I yelled out, "Fuck you! You know what you did!"
She looked back at me, terrified. She took the chair and sped out of the store. She must have anticipated an automatic door, but instead of it opening, she rammed the chair into it to bust it open. She caught her foot on the metal door seal and fell over.
She used the chair to break her fall, and broke the base off from the seat. It was completely destroyed.
No one helped her. No one felt bad either. The employees and I laughed as she got what she deserved.
I was heartbroken that such a great chair would never be enjoyed by my ass, but I'd rather it be broken than forced to endure life sitting in the garage of a hoarder.
Oh well. I'll find another one.