Socks APPEAL
Not all gifts at the charity shop are welcome
A large man, wearing round glasses and a spotted handkerchief pulled over his mouth and nose, loomed into the charity shop a little while back. ‘Oh look,’ whispered my colleague Wendy. ‘Hasn’t the Milky Bar Kid let himself go?’
He was carrying two large boxes and appeared to be making heavy weather of it.
‘I’ve got some books,’ he said as he managed to squeeze into the shop. Just in case we hadn’t noticed the boxes. ‘Shall I put them down here?’
‘That’s fine. What are they?’ Wendy asked.
‘They’re books,’ said the man, who I’d guess was in his late 50s.
Wendy put on the smile she uses when talking to small children and police officers (don’t try this at home – it has never worked with police officers, and I can’t blame them).
‘What type of books are they?’ said Wendy. ‘Fiction? Non-fiction?’
‘Oh, a mixture of both,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some more in the car.’
And before Wendy could say, ‘We haven’t really got any room for any more,’ he was heading for the car to replenish his stocks.
‘Let’s have a look then,’ she said, without enthusiasm.
It almost goes without saying that people are very kind when it comes to donating unwanted items to charity shops. However, some people forget that we have to sell these items. Unwanted sometimes means ‘absolutely unsellable’.
Years ago somebody gave us a copy of Colloquial Czech. It sat on our shelves for months, defying all attempts to shift it. Mrs Beasley, our manager, even actually offered a reward of chocolates to the person who sold it.
Then one day it disappeared. Nobody claimed the reward, and we suspect that Mrs B just got fed up with the sight of it.
Wendy sighed and looked up from the boxes. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘It’s Colloquial Czech all over again.’
Here are some of the highlights of the Milky Bar Kid’s box of books: The
Times Guide to The House of Commons 1979, Avalanche Safety for Skiers and Climbers, an illustrated guide to rowing blazers,
A Short History of Modern Philosophy and English Culture in the 18th Century.
‘Some people forget that we have to sell these items’
‘It’s not exactly the
J.K. Rowling selection box, is it?’ she said.
‘Look on the bright side,’ I urged. ‘All we need is an MP with an interest in skiing, rowing, culture in the 18th century and philosophy.’
‘Oh yes, they pop in all the time.’
By this time the Milky Bar Kid was coming through the door again. The training kicked in, and we assumed our very best customer service smiles. Wendy happened to be holding the book about rowing blazers.
‘I was wondering whether to put that in,’ he said, ‘but I thought it was time to let somebody else enjoy it.’
‘We wouldn’t want you to regret giving it away,’ said Wendy, putting on the child and police officer smile again. ‘And it is a beautiful book.’
‘I’ve got a thing about rowing blazers,’ he said. ‘Who hasn’t?’ said Wendy. ‘They’re so colourful. They lift the spirits somehow.’
With that, he was out of the door again.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Wendy, or words to that effect. ‘I do believe he’s gone for some more.’
Between us we hauled the boxes into the stockroom. We then began putting them on the shelves where our books settle in before we subject them to the hurly-burly and the cruel public gaze of the shop itself.
When we returned to the counter, it was clear that the Milky Bar Kid had paid another visit. There were no more books, but instead he had left two bags of what looked like clothes.
‘I expect this will be his collection of rowing blazers,’ said Wendy. ‘Mind you, can you imagine him in a boat? Honestly, the size of him. You could give him some paddles and sit him on the deck of the Queen Mary.’
Wendy can be unkind like that.
While I told a young man in his 20s that – accurately – he didn’t look at all silly in a cloth cap and that it was definitely his size, Wendy scooped up the bags and headed for the stockroom.
‘At least we can’t go far wrong with clothes,’ she said.
A minute later, she returned with one of the bags. ‘Look at this,’ she said.
It was a bag full of socks. All odd.
Rosie x