The White Tent

The white tent caught my attention, mostly because of how messy it looked inside. I knew there were treasures deep within but at first glance, one would likely not think so. I knew of the treasures because I’d shopped there over the years. Mom never liked that I did, probably because there’s a certain taboo in India and Pakistan about buying second-hand things but I was born and raised in America, and we don’t have those kinds of notions here; that’s been my impression, at least. (Though chances are I won’t be broadcasting to (all of my) friends and family that I bought my Burberry handbag from there!)

I’d pass by the white tent where our Orange County community thrift store was housed, while walking to visit the seniors at their weekly club meetings. Spending time with the aunties brought me comfort after losing mom in September, and then somehow, as if by magic or divine intervention, or both, I’m actually not sure where the line is, the mess of the store cried out: come rescue me.

I enjoyed interacting with customers and I made a sweet friend in the store manager. Together we did some massive decluttering and reorganizing, and for whatever it’s worth, I like to believe I made a positive impact on the store. Our record sales numbers tell the same story. Best of all it was therapeutic to put my mind into this project. My time there may be over, or not, but I’m happy it happened, and the white tent will always have a soft spot in my heart.