Goodwill

Dear Goodwill in the Warehouse District:

I appreciate your presence. Although you have limited parking and your concrete steps are hollow, at least you are handicap accessible and you *have* parking. And it's free. So kudos on that.

The signs on your bathroom scare me, and the fact that your employees  need to wear gloves that can withstand Clorox and masks that could potentially ward off h1n1 makes me dubious about your success.

You do carry a variety of plastics, which I like. And while I would not buy a stuffed animal for a small child from you, or dig through various bins of debris to find the lid to the perfect sized salad spinner that I was eying but then realized there was no lid (I could just hear my mom saying, "look with your hands, not with your eyes"...but sorry, Mom, I just couldn't do it. Not without industrial strength gloves.). So I am salad-spinnerless.

However, the shapes of some of the composite furniture you had on display was fairly impressive, and the sewing machine that didn't have a presser foot was really amazing...at least 70 years old. That's how you know the oldies but goodies brands. And the pricing scheme you came up with was unique: 49 cents per pound of housewares. I don't think I've ever seen wholesale plastic cups and old pans by the pound before. And someone with good taste donates to you, because I saw at least 5 Roger Whittaker records for sale. But let me share a secret with you: you're a bit short on books.

I'm glad I visited you. It made me hope that I will never by pure necessity visit to purchase shoes or any other accessories or even need stop by again. But every time I want to feel gratitude, I may stop by. It won't be a pity party. You're strong, even in this economy. You have options. People need you. I need you. Even if it's not for the same reasons that some of the other people do.

So here's to you, Warehouse Goodwill. Keep up the good work.