I used to look down on second-hand shopping with all the snobbery of an Aucklander visiting the Eketahuna Inn.
But after asking various workmates where they got that gorgeous new dress/bag/pair of shoes and constantly being told, “At a second-hand shop,” I decided to get with the programme. In fact, I went a step further. Now, not only do I shop second-hand, but I work second-hand – at the Wairarapa Hospice shop, to be exact.
A customer said to me recently, “It must be like working in a lolly shop.” Indeed it is – one where different lollies are in stock every day, and you know if you don’t buy the best ones immediately, they probably won’t be there tomorrow. (There is no such thing as, ‘We’ll order another one in for you’ in a second-hand shop.)
Driven by this fear of missing out, over the past 18 months I have bought a range of tops, dresses, bags, shoes and books at the hospice shop, along with a milkshake maker (Christmas present for Barnard), an air fryer (ditto); various knick-knacks and ornaments; a Christmas tree; storage baskets; and a particularly fine pink suede jacket. And those are just the things I can remember.
In every case, I have been immensely satisfied with my purchase, not least because it cost a fraction of what I would have paid for it new. But, as they say, eventually my luck had to run out.
Now, I am not a regular tramper but I do own a pair of tramping boots. They saw me through an arduous and muddy three-day tramp on Stewart Island a few years back, but since then have been relegated to “good for dog walking” status. They are perfect for navigating the stony riverbank where I walk Arki most days, along with the occasional wade through the water when necessary to retrieve his ball.
A few weeks ago I noticed the boots were starting to split at the seams. I didn’t want to spend too much on a replacement pair, so imagine my delight when I spotted what appeared to be a sturdy pair of hiking boots at the hospice shop, on sale for just $8!
The first day I wore them to the river, all was well – that is, until the wind carried Arki’s ball a little too far, across to the other side of the river. While Arki helpfully looked the other way, the ball began to make its way downriver, carried along by the steadily flowing tide. But I was not defeated, for I am woman and I am resourceful. After wading across the river in my “sturdy hiking boots”, I was able to jog along the opposite bank and catch up to the ball before plucking it from the water.
Having achieved my mission, I strolled along the bank for a while, occasionally throwing the ball for Arki, before becoming aware of a strange sensation under my right foot. Looking down at my boot, I saw the front half of the right sole had come unglued, and was now flapping around under my foot in a manner which rather resembled the mouth of a quacking duck.
But I was not defeated, for I am woman and I am resourceful. I untied the right boot lace, wrapped it around the boot to hold the sole in place, and re-tied it. Feeling very pleased with myself, I began to cross the river back to the other side. But halfway across, I became aware of a strange sensation under my left foot. Looking down, I observed with fascinated horror the front half of my left boot sole had also come unglued, and was now flapping around under my foot in a manner which rather resembled the mouth of a quacking (albeit drowning) duck.
But I was not defeated, for I am woman and I am resourceful. As the water was considerably faster and deeper at this point, I decided that trying to wrap the shoelace under my left boot was likely to lead to my posterior swiftly making contact with the stony riverbed. Far better to make my way as quickly as possible to the riverbank, where I could affect the necessary repairs.
Unfortunately as I was attempting to do this, the sole of my left boot made a complete break for freedom, and was last seen merrily sailing down downriver to some more exciting destination.
I was defeated. Humiliated and lopsided, I finally reached the riverbank, where I removed one boot and the remains of the other before walking the half-kilometre or so back to the car in my wet socks. As we neared the car, and I reached for Arki’s lead, I realised I didn’t have it. In all the excitement, I must have put it down on the other side of the river and forgotten to pick it up. Our $80, 5-metre, fully retractable dog lead. A lead which, I was to discover when I looked for it the following day, some other dog walker must have happened across and thought, “Thanks. I’ll have that.”
Just $8. That was a very expensive pair of boots.
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