Tales from the Thrift
- Maria DeAngelis
- Dec 27, 2024
- 9 min read
Hello, welcome or welcome back! If you're new here, my name is Maria, thrifting extraordinaire/enthusiast, jack of all things thrifty. If you'd like to learn more about me and my introduction to shopping secondhand, click here.
Over my many years of scouring yard sales, Craigslist, flea markets, thrift stores, and FB Marketplace to source items for resale or for my or my family's use, I've had lots of "unique" experiences. This is part 1 of what may include others of tales of my thrifting journeys. Follow along, as I have a story to tell!
Creepy Craigslist and my Dream Hutch
The first story is from my very first Craigslist purchase in 2014. Prior to that, I was intimidated by Craigslist and found it a scary place. But Marketplace was in its infancy, if it existed at all, and I was on the hunt for a very specific hutch to redo for my dining room. Enter Craigslist, and my vision was realized. I found a hutch, although newer than I would have liked, with the right shape and on budget for $125 an hour away.
Mr. Thrifty and I set out with the address, repeatedly driving down the street until we spotted a decrepit mailbox and a narrow dirt path. The number matched our destination, so we proceeded down the half-mile driveway, which narrowed at points, crossed a homemade bridge, and led us deeper into the brush with no house in sight.
Just when we were about ready to abort the mission, we came upon a clearing and a palatial old stone house with the most beautiful intricate ironwork. The house felt like it did not belong here and did not match the surroundings. Loose chickens approached us as we got out of the vehicle, and we could hear the sound of farm animals, but the land was too wooded and next to a busy train track to be a farm. Suddenly, a young, handsome Spanish gentleman, probably 20 at most, greeted us in broken English - "You're here for the hutch." "Yes," we replied. He then went inside to get his wife. His wife could have been his mother. She had to be more than 30 years older, matronly, and homely, and her dialect led me to believe she was once Amish. As much as this house didn't fit with its surroundings, this man and woman didn't fit as a couple.
Hubby and I exchanged glances and followed their lead inside. The grand house felt more like a barn interior. Sheep and goats roamed freely indoors. The wood floor was rustic, and the ceilings were low and dark. It felt like a cave. They told us that they had baby goats that were just born in the bathtub. Chickens also wandered indoors and didn't seem to pay any mind to the large dogs napping in each room.
They took us to the dining room area of this well-lived-in home and showed me the hutch. I didn't love the cheap feel of the finish or how new it was, and I was on the fence about buying it. I made a lowball offer of $90, thinking they would refuse, but they agreed. As Mr. Thrifty and Mr. Hot Husband were preparing to carry it outside, I showed the wife a picture of my inspiration, and to my surprise, she mentioned they had a hutch I might like better.
They led us deeper into the house, through room after room, stepping over various animals along the way to an area where the ceiling really opened up and huge double doors stood before us. They opened the doors, and it was like a ray of light shining through the house. This room was like a grand ballroom, ceilings at least 20 feet high, with enormous windows, lots of light, and loads of grandiose moldings and features. The opulent fireplace was so massive you could stand inside it. The room was filled with velvet sofas, antiques, and Grecian statuary. The air was clean and fresh, the room animal-free. It was like we entered a totally different house! They closed the doors behind us, and I felt fear take over. I thought to myself, we are never getting out of here. Everything about this house, these people, this room, doesn't feel right.
But, as it turns out, it was legit. This room, filled with antiques and decadence, did hold the hutch of my dreams, and for a mere $75, it was ours. The wife explained for the husband, since his English was poor, that he was a trash man and all these treasures were discarded items that they sell. But that's not all; "Come here," she said, as she pulled back a long velvet curtain which led to a grand foyer complete with a double curved stairwell, filled with more furniture straight out of Studio 54. Overhead hung the largest chandelier I had ever seen; it must have been the size of a VW Beetle. Amazed, intrigued, but also overwhelmed, feeling like none of this could be real, we paid and rushed out, with the hutch in tow, waving our goodbyes as chickens followed our vehicle down the narrow dirt road. The entire way home, we tried to make sense of this whole experience, but there were no words.
HUTCH: Before & After
For more before and after's click here.
The Coffee Table That Wasn't Meant To Be
If you follow me on Facebook, you probably already know I have my heart set on this coffee table, only I want to thrift it. Earlier in the summer, I found one in NJ, but because of work and other obligations, I couldn't get there for a few weeks. When I finally had a clearing in my schedule, it was sold. So I set up alerts to be notified whenever one is listed.
Obviously, this is a rather specific item, so I know I'll have to be patient and wait. One Monday morning, as I was getting ready for work, an alert hit my phone. A mango wood coffee table was just listed, 2 hours northeast of me. Not just a mango coffee table, but THE mango coffee table, with the angles I desired for $170. I immediately sent them a message and said I could come that Friday if they could hold it, as I had off work and was heading to NJ for the weekend. She sent me some additional pictures and said she'd reach out Thursday if it was still available. I completely understood. Thursday, I waited to hear from her, and when I didn't, I messaged her at 8 pm. To my surprise, she said she didn't know if it would still be there in the next 12 hours (we were going to leave super early to get it in the morning, since it was still 2 hours out of the way from where we were heading in NJ). She said she would reach out in the morning if it was still available. I explained our travel plans and told her we would be on the road by 6 am heading in a different direction and not willing to backtrack if we were already on the road. I was frustrated as it was already 8 pm; did she have showings late into the night? It made no sense why she couldn't hold it for 12 hours.
Sure enough, as soon as we hit NJ, she messaged me and asked if I was "coming for it." Not only did we not have her address, but we also were now a state away. She acted annoyed when I told her no, but I could pick it up on Sunday on our way home. Again, her response was if I have it. A few hours later, I got a notification that it was sold.
The next day, another notification came across my phone for the same coffee table. This time, the pictures that were posted were the same ones she sent me. The messages we exchanged were archived from when she marked it as sold. Not only was this a new listing with different pictures, but also at a higher price. The $170 coffee table was suddenly $225. This lady was playing games for sure. But even as irritated as I was, I was willing to pay the new price for the coffee table I had my heart set on. I immediately sent her another message, also informing her that I knew she increased the price but was still willing to come for it the next day. Again, she didn't know if she would still have it. I told her I'd reach out in the evening, and she agreed. It was 9 p.m. when I reached out, again telling her a specific time we could be there in the morning, now only a wake-up away. But I told her if we come all that way, I need to know that you'll have that table reserved for us overnight. She refused, saying she needed a deposit to hold it overnight, which of course I refused. I don't know who is picking up Marketplace at all hours of the night, but she made it seem like that was the case.
Little did she or I know that Mr. Thrifty was also messaging her about the table, and her responses to him were different. She never even asked him for a deposit. The next day as we were leaving NJ, Mr. Thrifty asked me if I wanted to get the table. I told him no, that she couldn't confirm it would even be there. Then he showed me their correspondence. Technically, we had the address. We could have gone, but at 4 hours round trip out of our way with all the conniving she was doing, I wasn't having it. Hours later, she marked it sold. Did she really have the table or was she just playing games? One will never know, but I'm still looking. Let this be a lesson on what NOT to do when selling on Marketplace!
A Goodwill Farewell
This story is a bit of a tearjerker, even for me to this day, even though it happened in the summer of 2022. My dad had passed in February of that year, and my brother and I were tasked with cleaning out his large house and multiple garages. The property was in a bit of disarray as Dad had been declining and was not able to keep up with maintenance. He also did not allow anyone in the house, so up until the day we took him to the hospital on Thanksgiving Eve the year before, neither of us had been in the house for a few years.
When he was first hospitalized, we worked on cleaning up the house and taking care of maintenance issues in hopes of renting it out while he went to a nursing home. But it was a lengthy, time-consuming process, and by the time he passed, there was still a lot to do. Initially after his passing, we allowed ourselves to grieve and didn't focus our energy on cleaning out the house as much, until I decided we would sell it.
While the majority of personal items were gone by the time we started having showings, I could not bring myself to empty Dad's closet. It stayed intact, with his clothes, during all the showings, and even in the weeks leading to settlement. It wasn't until the day before settlement that I emptied it out, taking pieces home that I wanted to keep and donating the rest to Goodwill. Our Goodwill has a bin outside in all weather that you dump stuff in. It's not protected and usually overflowing. But they also have a buzzer for bigger items. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving Dad's stuff in a heaping pile of broken toys, books, and electronics, and instead rang the bell. I handed his clothing over gently, still on hangers, to the employee as if I was handing him a newborn. My eyes filled with tears and I bawled the whole way home.
Since this was a Goodwill that I visited regularly, the next day I went there to shop after the settlement, as a way of coping. It had been less than 24 hours since I donated Dad's closet. As I turned the aisle to home goods, something familiar caught my eye at the end of the men's rack. A man's sweater, not just any man's sweater but Dad's sweater, still on the wooden hanger from his closet. I immediately investigated that rack, finding piece after piece of Dad's clothing, running my fingers across the fabric, and taking in the familiar faint scent of mothballs. Memories flooded my mind, and my eyes swelled with tears. For the next two weeks, almost daily, I would visit that Goodwill and go straight to the men's department. It was comforting to find his things, and it made it feel like he was still there. Reuniting with Dad's things, one by one, less and less each day, until the end of the second week all that remained was a pair of boots. It was like losing him all over again. For months after, I avoided that Goodwill like the plague, almost resentful that someone had bought his things but relieved at the same time that they didn't end up in the bins.
Last year, I started visiting that Goodwill again. It was remodeled slightly and depts moved around, so it's not as painful. I avoid the men's department, mainly because I have no reason to shop there, but also because of the painful memories I associate with it. Oddly enough, that same department brought me comfort in my time of grief and allowed me to have another two weeks with "Dad." Of all the things we got rid of, his clothes felt personal and hit me the hardest.
👈This is my dad in 2011. He would have been incredibly proud of my blog. I think of him every day.
Thrifting goes beyond mere shopping; it's a lifestyle, an experience, and occasionally a lifesaver. Has thrifting impacted you beyond simply obtaining items? Share your experiences and stories from your thrift adventures.
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