"Thrifty Threads" is run by a mafia of neurotic middle aged women with an intensity that only years of housewifery can yield. On the surface, they appear sweet and sociable--but don't be fooled--beneath their bubbly exteriors you'll find some of the feistiest hustlers in the greater Boston area.
Usually I'm a sucker for petty flattery and all the other bells and whistles of small talk--I certainly won't say no to being gassed up--but the way these ladies do it is sickeningly sweet. They don't talk so much as cluck, and they don't flatter so much as badger.
Several months ago, I found a silver ring that was slightly underpriced. Almost immediately, nostrils twitching at the scent of a good bargain, one of the ladies greedily extracted it from between my pincered fingers like a seagull snatching away a hot dog mid-bite. When she saw I was startled, she explained that she could not permit anything to be underpriced, and that she'd have to thoroughly inspect the ring to ensure that I wasn't getting away with a deal.
I glared at her, and she began to squirm, until, unable to stand the unspoken tension any longer, she erupted into a jittery rant about some tragic episode where someone bought a casserole dish for $25 and resold it for $50. She was in utter disbelief that someone would dare reap a profit off a church sale, the proceeds of which go towards funding Monday night bingo. Judging by the moral conviction in her voice, the proceeds might as well have been going to the starving children of Guatemala or something like that.
Apparently, a few weeks ago, all hell broke loose at one of these bingo nights when the sought-after prize--a $50 Olive Garden gift card--went missing. One of the players, Doris, who had finally won for the first time in all her bingo-going years, was heartbroken. Because the church didn't have $50 to spare for a replacement, she was offered the next best thing: a basket with an assortment of cheeses from Wegman's. Doris was insulted by the consolation prize and refused to claim the cheeses. The award committee, having a "you get what you get and you don't get upset" attitude, publicly scolded Doris for her lack of gratitude. Once a pillar of the community, Doris hasn't stepped foot in the church since, and things just haven't been the same. The remaining church goers have factionalized into those who are pro-Doris and those who are anti-Doris. But even within the factions, mistrust abounds--to this day, no one knows who stole the gift card.
I just wanted to make a basic transaction. Instead, I got pinned to the wall with manic tales about uneaten cheese and a gift card heist. Thankfully, I was able to pry myself from the conversation before this lady went off the deep end. In all my years of attending sales, I've never seen anyone describe the machinations of the church sale business with such nervous momentum. I honestly could not tell if this lady needed to stop taking drugs or start taking drugs.
They're so paranoid that a sliver of jewelry might fly under the radar that they even installed a watchguard to patrol the "FREE" table, in case someone drops off a donation of value. Their guard of choice is a hawk-eyed 80-year old lady, who, judging by her accent, comes from some defunct Eastern European country. She embodies her role with the ferocity of a vulture, as though she's tapping into her muscle memory of fighting over skimpy rations during communist times.
Just as I thought all hope was lost, a gentleman dropped off a bag of jewelry at the "FREE" table. I quickly grabbed a few pieces when, out of nowhere, the watchguard granny swooped in and lunged at the jewelry bag with the determination of someone who's won blood feuds over canned meat. When she spied the few crumbs of jewelry I'd scooped, she plucked them from my clasped hand without saying a word, and fled the scene before I could object.
I remember reading somewhere that mothers have the ability to summon strength way beyond their capabilities when they see their young are in danger, at times even lifting cars to save their children. I'm convinced that a similar principle applies to penny-pinching grannies when their chance for a bargain is threatened. read more
