It started off all casual-like and innocent. I was sitting on my sofa in Brooklyn, checking my email. I noticed one from a reader——we’ll call her Priscilla, because her name is Priscilla——informing me of a new thrift store opening near Kingston. I sent a quick response saying that I’d driven by it and was excited for it to open, and thanked her for making sure I knew about it. My readers are the best readers because they understand that a new thrift store is a big important event in my world and take the time to email me about it.
But then she messaged me back saying that they’d actually already had a soft opening and were quietly selling furniture already, basically rewarding the hardcore thrifters who will even try to go to a thrift store that doesn’t look open yet. “I’ll go check it out!” I told her.
“They have a nice rosewood credenza right now,” she told me.
And that’s when things went from friendly and casual to gravely serious and intense. Nice. Rosewood. Credenza. If I smoked crack, these words would be a lot like someone saying “hey there, want some crack?” I said something about how I hoped it would still be there when I got back the next day, but Priscilla somehow knew what I really wanted, which was for her to send me pictures of Nice Rosewood Credenza and also measurements and also offer to buy it and let me pay her back later. I didn’t ask for any of this because I have a little bit of shame left in me, but I was very complicit in it when she kindly offered all of these things. She and I don’t know each other, mind you, but there’s nothing like a little long-distance thrifty furniture shopping to turn complete strangers into old friends.
Lest you’ve never had the pleasure, let me tell you: rolling into a thrift store parking lot in a borrowed truck to pick up old furniture purchased on your behalf by a stranger? Totally new levels of fancy. This day also happened to be my birthday. Then the cashier told me I had nice teeth. Then I met another reader while waiting on line (hi, Kirsten!). Maybe hauling furniture around is not everyone’s idea of a fabulous way to spend their birthday, but I’m not one of those people. There’s pretty much nothing else I’d rather be doing, particularly when nice rosewood credenzas are involved.
Oh heyyyyyy girl! Right now it’s in that front parlor room (which I’m thinking should be a library) because this is the only wall long enough to hold it! I’d like to put it in the dining room eventually, but that will involve removing the door to a non-original closet and patching in the wall and baseboard, which is a pretty large project that I don’t want to get into quite yet. I really want to focus on finishing the entryway before I start tearing apart more rooms in the house (I think I’d literally lose my mind if things were more chaotic than they already are), but that’s the long-term plan for this thing. It’ll be nice to have a serving surface in the dining room, and it’ll provide easy access to all sorts of handy things. And by “things,” I really just mean booze.
I dig this thing. It’s six feet long and a little taller than countertop height. I like the weird proportions and the wood grain, and I really love all the storage. This is basically our first and only piece of storage furniture, so after months of stuffing things into closets and keeping them organized in piles on the floor, we finally have a place to store things in a more civilized and adult manner. It could use a little oil on the feet, but otherwise it’s in really great condition. I know maybe this whole scene looks very dated and kind of nuts (and it doesn’t help that I really need a new camera)——what with the wallpaper and the chipping paint on the moldings and the messed up floors and the old electrical outlets and light switches——but SOMEDAY. Someday the house will be fresh and clean and not covered in insane dizzying patterns and this credenza will look really good.
I think. I hope. We’ll find out together!