I frequent the dirty places. The places where the loved and hated and battered remnants of a bygone era remain.
The places where you are sure to find an entire rack of embarrassing prom dresses from the 1980s whose bows and sequins were once the dreams of teenage girls and their teenage girlfriends.
Or find perhaps some old luggage with an anonymous name inscribed on the ID tag. Who knows where that person went or where they are now.
Thrift stores and junk shops are inescapably magical places. Even if they might not smell like Sears and at times the southern gospel music that we all love can be too much to bear on a Saturday afternoon.
When you frequent those magical places you more than likely come away with an adventure every time, that you can tell your friends, family and co-workers.
Having a browse in the Haven of Mercy this past summer, I lightly looked over their apparel selection and colony of fancy dresses when I did a double take.
“Oh, wow. Oh, yeah,” I whispered to myself, having a look what I perceived to be a marvelous specimen of mid-80’s evening wear. I had spied the most life-affirming purple sequined poncho I had ever seen.
The only one I had ever seen, mind you. I touched it, picked it up and let its beading glisten in the light. It had a tag on it that confirmed its 100 percent silkiness.
I was thrilled. I walked up to the sales lady and asked her how much it was. When she said, “five dollars” I was very pleased.
So pleased in fact that I put it back on the rack like an imbecile, indecision clouding my judgement. I walked over to my friends to tell them about the purple gem and to get their opinion. My male friends had blank expressions on their faces as I excitedly described what they probably thought was a dress or skirt or something.
Feeling defeated, I walked back to remove it from the rack to show them. After all, they had to behold its glory to fully understand my emotional bond with the loose top.
I had no idea where I would wear it, but knew for a fact that if it were mine I would shake, shake, shake my shimmies in it all the way home.
There would be no such shimmy shaking that day, for as soon as I turned my back I saw a miserable middle-aged woman pick up my poncho. Woe is me! My poncho! She had a look at it, asked the price, and … no! I was hoping she would put it back, but all my hopes were crushed that day.
I followed her around the store, arbitrarily looking at various store items in her vicinity, all the while cursing her existence. As I peered at her in the next aisle through racks of clothes, my face turned sour, dirty looks were all I knew.
What did she need it for anyway? I reasoned that because of Kathy Lee Gifford’s brainwashing Carnival Cruise commercials she had bought it to go on vacation with her husband of 20 years who she suspected was cheating on her. To save her marriage, she bought the sparkly poncho.
I was so upset, that reasoning still failed to make me feel better.
As we were about to leave the Haven of Mercy, my friends looked like they felt sorry for me. We stood around awkwardly, no one really knowing what to say.
I sadly ran my fingers over some children’s clothes that were on a rack near the entrance of the back of the store. Something soft and fuzzy was there.
How odd. I pulled it off the rack. It was the top half of a child’s lion costume complete with a tail and green satin bow. After a bit of coaxing from Daniel, Geoff, Dave and Townsend, I tried it on.
Hilarious laughter filled the store and even the lady behind the register chuckled a bit. The terrible experience of losing the poncho had been overshadowed by raucous laughs because of a fabulous furry suit.
My friends all chipped in to buy it for me, and I wore it for the rest of the day, at first hesitant and embarassed, but later emboldened by the experience. I came away better, all the wiser and clad in brown lion fur. I was ferocious.
I wore my lion suit to our local shopping mall because I had to return a couple of things. The mall is a curious place. Frequented by young kids who love hip fashions and kicking it with their crew, whole families indulging in food court cuisine and consumers actually looking for things to buy.
I wasn’t sure if this was a place were a girl in a lion suit would be accepted. I decided to give it a try.
A couple of strange looks here, a couple of strange looks there. After I finally had someone’s husband pull my tail, I hurriedly made a beeline out of American Eagle Outfitters, who even with their rugged name seemed hostile to a lion.
No warm smiles from a girl at the Gap when she encountered a lion/girl returning a few garments to her retail location during her Saturday afternoon shift. I even told her that if a lion were to shop in any store in the mall, it would be the Gap. Still, she failed to find this in any way funny, and looked confused and bothered.
It’s like, lions can’t get no respect.
My friends and family, however, love me in my lion suit, and persistently ask where they can get one just like it.
Because the mall makes someone in a lion suit yawn with boredom, a list of Johnson City’s most happenin’ secondhand stores is in order. Practice patience, fortitude and fare thee well in your quest.
* Opportunities Unlimited, 3006 Bristol Hwy. I go here at least a couple times a week and have many a time encountered a bounty of beautiful things.
Finds: ’80s bag with large “etc.” screenprint, fabulous fabric scraps, orange puffy sleeved sweater, purple sparkly sweater, yellow Merle Norman duffle bag.
* The Salvation Army, 423 W. Walnut Street. and 1307 E. Main St. Friendly staff, great selection and good prices.
Finds: bolt of green fabric heavier than the weight of two of my closest friends put together, multicolored heart print bedsheets, New Kids on the Block pillowcase, painting with ornate white frame.
* Haven of Mercy Thrift Outlet, 218 N. Broadway. Lots of stuff!
Finds: burnt sienna giraffe bathing suit, two yards of olive satin, lion suit, 1950’s French children’s playing cards
* Bargains on Broadway, 145 S. Broadway Street. Funky mannequins and lots of furniture.
Finds: vintage handbag, older-than-your-grandma sewing notions and sequins.

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