In hindsight, I could have guessed that I would leave the thrift store enlightened. The odds are in my favor of that happening each time now. I don’t know if it is because the clientele is from all walks of life or just because I am especially open-minded there. I’ll opt for the latter belief because I can control it.

So I’m in line, childless for a change, with an armful of finds ranging from cute shoes to children’s books to pants, for mom to hem for me, to an NA book for hubby to a pair of framed crewel designs for my kitchen, one of various mushrooms, the other of seeds and wheat.

The customer in front of me was getting ready to pay for his one item, a Duran Duran album. I found him interesting because he was free enough to shop at a store like this for just one thing, because he was probably excited to find an album that he liked, and because the album sealed the deal for me: this guy, even though he didn’t look it, must be cool. Time stood still for a moment as I envisioned my future with grown kids and the earned freedom to shop how I wanted, when I wanted, and for what I wanted.

He paid with exact change and left. The cashier asked what I was smiley about. I said that I did well in the store today. He said I did not do that well because all of my purchases were marked pink, which was full-price. I disagreed without saying so. He asked if I had kids and was surprised to hear that I did because I looked so good (I have my kids to thank for my looking so good). When he was ringing up the crewel pictures he asked if I like mushrooms too. I don’t necessarily like mushrooms. I said, “Someone made these.” Back to the prices, the clerk decided to tell me that the fellow who just left tried to steal a 45 record by hiding it inside the other album. It fell out at the register.