Good Will

My favorite shopping venue is a certain Good Will shop in Pennsylvania. The prices are amazingly reasonable. A perfectly good, brand new pair of men's shorts, with the tags from a department store still attached, is $3.50. A man's T-shirt is $3.00 if it is plain, $3.50 if something--like FCUK, Go Phillies, or War Is Not the Answer--is printed on it. I prefer the plain anyway.

All the customers are cheerful and friendly. They are elated to find a pair of ladies' shoes which will go perfectly with their sister's new cocktail dress even though they are not quite her size. Anyway, for the price, the customer is sure she can find someone among her acquaintance who can use them.

Need a coffeepot? Or a perfectly good, playable television, just one of the old, bulky kind? They have dozens. Whole sets of dishes. Every gadget you can name. Lots of Christmas decorations. Candles and candlesticks, particularly the fancy ones in special shapes, such as Halloween Jack-o-Lanterns and the scented ones that make me cough.

They have tons of afghans, some nice, some in putrid colors, but all lovingly and beautifully crocheted. Silver-plated serving pieces that someone no longer wanted to polish. Framed photographs of ancestors nobody remembers. Pictures, some in nice frames, some unframed, and empty frames. Books, mostly recent bestsellers, DVDs, and CDs.

The atmosphere last Monday was positively festive. One lady had some nice children's clothes. Someone else had found a crystal vase for $2.00. A third had a brand new tuxedo priced at $25, which might or might not fit her husband.

I conclude that Americans, me included, like to buy things. At the Good Will there is plenty to buy, and almost anyone who eats regularly can afford it. This is a land so overflowing with goods and money that people can give away brand new appliances, clothing, and pots and pans without blinking an eye. In the words of Bill Ayers: What a country!