Sorry Folks. This will be a rather short posting. However, I've got to scratch this annoying little itch that needs to go away.
So, this morning, I'm about ten minutes late for work and I'm cruising through my neighborhood- smiling, happy, and looking forward to another workday with a boss out on vacation.
I pull my eco-friendly SUV out of my driveway and head on my way. The weather is perfect, my concealer actually worked and hid my dark sick bags under my eyes, and my dog gave me a good day kiss. EVERYTHING IS PERFECT. WHAT CAN GO WRONG?
Well, let me tell you. The damn slow turners. That's what went wrong. So, there's no dictionary definition of Slow Turners, so allow me to enhance your mind.
Slow Turner: Noun Slo-Turn-Er : One operating a motor vehicle that turns dramatically and ridiculously slow onto streets, into parking lots, or anything else. The slow turner has nothing to impede their turn. They are just losers who have not realized that you don't have to reduce your speed to 2 miles or completely brake to simply make a turn.
So, nothing annoys me more... Wait, let me retract that. There are a lot of annoying things. However, these notorious slow turners can mess up your flow. You're driving along. You notice their turn signal so you slow a bit, preparing for a brief slow down for the person to turn. You notice this is taking a lot LONGER than it should. You look out and over and see NOTHING prohibiting them from making a smooth turn. You huff, sit back. But, nope, still sitting there.
You look again, and then finally the stupid forest green Ford Taurus FINALLY creeps and makes their turn.
Slow Turners should be spanked with a wooden spatula and sent back to Drivers Education. Sometimes, i get so angry, that I speed around them. (Always checking to make sure that there's no oncoming traffic in the other lane) I speed around them and I stare at them to see just what's causing this illness. I expect to see an older person... I immediately have sympathy for older people. You can't get mad at older peeps, they're like grandparents.
But, no, guess what I see? A middle age forty something man with a handlebar moustache turning the Taurus into Food-A-Rama...
Yes, they must be crazy. 'Cause I aint.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Buffalo Exchange
So, Buffalo Exchange is this seemingly neat little store in Houston. The store is a crowded, sometimes musty smelling store, filled with vintage finds and sometimes new items for dirt cheap. So, here's the deal... Folks can come in and sell their clothes to Buffalo Exchange for their inventory... So, if you have a pair of Citizens for Humanity, that you WILL NEVER EVER, fit again, you can sell 'em right on to Buffalo Exchange.
BE has a team of "buyers" that sift through the items and decide a fair retail price to sell the clothes, and then give you a percentage of what they will retail the items...
So, the benefit to customers is that you can get vintage, old, used, recycled clothing at a small fraction of the price... Most urban socialites on a financially savvy plan go to the store to find great designer finds for credit card friendly prices...
The benefit to sellers, is that instead of giving those retired designer duds to your super skinny coworker for free, or sharing them with your local shelter, you can actually sell back these items and get a small piece of the price you paid.
Sounds great, right!
HELL NAW... It ain't great...
So, here's my take on this sham...
So, let's start with the inventory itself. You can usually find more junk than not. I enjoy the store for costumes, crazy little vintage baby T-shirts. Wait, allow me to go off on a tangent. Remember, vintage t's were popular for men. Well, during this time, my husband had this crazy purple shirt. He's got a great bod, so this shirt was very flattering. However, the shirt was purple. Royal purple. As if it was a good quality Hanes cotton T... Scratch that, a great American Apparel T-shirt. So, the shirt read: VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL. ST MATTHEWS BAPTIST CHURCH 1987.
Maybe that's not the exact text, but it was something uber soulful, fun, and reminiscent of a Southern Black child's summer... Anyway, I thought he actually purchased this T-shirt. Which would have been totally cheesy, sad, and depressing.
However, I was wrong. This was actually his own authentic vacation bible t-shirt from his childhood. So, I fell in love with the shirt and begged him to actually sport it. I knew that some cool teenage boy with long bangs like Zac Efron from High School Music that drove a Bronco and had a name like Zach would see him and laugh and say, "Man, that's cool. Where'd you get that?" However, my husband rarely wore it.
Anyway, back to BE...
So, yeah, it's ok for shopping. It's not anyplace that I go every paycheck... Sooooo... My gripe is that when I rarely find cool jeans, the price is not cheap enough for me. I'll find a pair of designer jeans for about 60 bucks. Well, for some used jeans that some potentially sexually promiscuous skank from the North Side, I want to pay about 25 bucks maybe 30. I'm not paying half priced for these used pants. Used, Nasty=30 Used, Nasty does NOT EQUAL 60.
So, to me, it's not that great. Anyway, I've sold items a few times back to this place. Each time, I walk out, either sad, depressed, confused, mad, and then downright PISSED.
So, here's the process when you are selling items back.
Well, you walk in with usually huge bags. You go to the dreaded SELLERS counter and there, this "buyer" greets you. So, this buyer takes his/her thin young hands, usually painted nails of black chipped polish(and not Chanel black) or bitten stubby nails. So, they pry through your fashion treasures. These things that you saved every month for, these things that you spent way too much on American Express for, these things that makes CitiBank call your job too damn embarrassingly much. Well, you're proud. You know that you have some good shit... Well, at least I did... Each time...
So, you stand there with your head held high. You look over at another seller and quickly survey her items. You think, this sista ain't got jack on me. Her plastic hefty bag is filled with LEI jeans, Bongo jeans, and other teeny bopper crap.
Back to my transaction... So, these "buyers" go through your items. If there's something they want, they clothespin a price to it and calculate the amount on one of those large secretarial type calculators; if they don't want it, then they usually say, in a ridiculously syrupy voice, "Mam, we're going to pass on these b/c..." In your mind, you're thinking, are you crazy. PASS... I'll pass on your ass...
Well, this past Sunday, I go in with two large neatly packed bags. These bags were filled to the brim with great finds. Any person with any tasting of fashion would have loved 77.8% of the items in these bags. So, this buyer, starts going though my stuff. Let me let you know, that she looks about 18 and as if she just quit working at 5-7-9 or Contempo Casuals. So, I'm not really buying this "buyer" title. It's sort of like calling the folks at the cash registers Sales Associates. I ain't hating. i worked at Walgreen's. I was titled a Sales Associate. But I'll be damn if I ever did any associating or associate type responsibilities.
Anyway, so I notice this girl is looking at things but I'm not haring any whirring or whizzing on the register. She's politely folding all my clothes in one pile. Next, to the right of me, this woman selling Lee and Arizona jeans is busy racking up dollars. So, you know I was pissed.
So, I can feel my inner bitch starting to rise. So, I ask the "buyer" in a very chilling voice, "Mam, are you passing on those items?" I figured that I'd psyche her out by using BE terminology. So, she says, "yes." I ask her to go through each pass with me. Usually, in that silly syrupy voice, they go through each "pass" with you. She says, "I'm sorry, mam."
By this time, the poor girl is scared shitless.
Long story short, she passed on almost everything in my bag. So, my husband who was embarrassed and warning me to tame the bitch starts walking away. I say to her, "Mam, get someone else to help me." So, I get another buyer. This guy is a Senior Buyer. He goes through my things and takes a bit more. Still, not as much as I expected. Well, they have this neat little thought that they like to share. "Mam, with all the items that we passed on, we're willing to take them to a local shelter for you."
Well, here's the deal. You're already mad, upset and confused on how THESE people have the nerve to pass on YOUR fashion, so you definitely don't want to walk out with those bags... It's the Buffalo Exchange Walk of Shame. So, most folks, take the chicken route, and allow them to cart the treasures to a shelter. You make yourself feel better by thinking that some deserving person will not have access to that cute Theory skirt that's too short.
So, I allow my leftover to go to the shelter pile,after I got my measly chump change. I'll keep a little bit of dignity and not reveal the exact amount of pennies I received.
My husband then tells me, "You know they got you... They are so gonna put all that stuff back on the racks and sell it or go through it themselves and keep it."
He reminded me of a cute little sign that reads something like, "we reserve the right to change our minds." Basically, saying that they can pretend they don't want my stuff and pay me with food stamps, and then put my stuff back on the racks.
UGGGHHHH... I'm so mad, I can't even breathe...
If I wasn't so happy in my life with my husband, dog, friends, and family, I'd go back in there and go crazy on them. Crazy like Ed Norton in Fight Club.
So, yeah, no more Buffalo Exchange for me.
They must be crazy, cause I ain't.
BE has a team of "buyers" that sift through the items and decide a fair retail price to sell the clothes, and then give you a percentage of what they will retail the items...
So, the benefit to customers is that you can get vintage, old, used, recycled clothing at a small fraction of the price... Most urban socialites on a financially savvy plan go to the store to find great designer finds for credit card friendly prices...
The benefit to sellers, is that instead of giving those retired designer duds to your super skinny coworker for free, or sharing them with your local shelter, you can actually sell back these items and get a small piece of the price you paid.
Sounds great, right!
HELL NAW... It ain't great...
So, here's my take on this sham...
So, let's start with the inventory itself. You can usually find more junk than not. I enjoy the store for costumes, crazy little vintage baby T-shirts. Wait, allow me to go off on a tangent. Remember, vintage t's were popular for men. Well, during this time, my husband had this crazy purple shirt. He's got a great bod, so this shirt was very flattering. However, the shirt was purple. Royal purple. As if it was a good quality Hanes cotton T... Scratch that, a great American Apparel T-shirt. So, the shirt read: VACATION BIBLE SCHOOL. ST MATTHEWS BAPTIST CHURCH 1987.
Maybe that's not the exact text, but it was something uber soulful, fun, and reminiscent of a Southern Black child's summer... Anyway, I thought he actually purchased this T-shirt. Which would have been totally cheesy, sad, and depressing.
However, I was wrong. This was actually his own authentic vacation bible t-shirt from his childhood. So, I fell in love with the shirt and begged him to actually sport it. I knew that some cool teenage boy with long bangs like Zac Efron from High School Music that drove a Bronco and had a name like Zach would see him and laugh and say, "Man, that's cool. Where'd you get that?" However, my husband rarely wore it.
Anyway, back to BE...
So, yeah, it's ok for shopping. It's not anyplace that I go every paycheck... Sooooo... My gripe is that when I rarely find cool jeans, the price is not cheap enough for me. I'll find a pair of designer jeans for about 60 bucks. Well, for some used jeans that some potentially sexually promiscuous skank from the North Side, I want to pay about 25 bucks maybe 30. I'm not paying half priced for these used pants. Used, Nasty=30 Used, Nasty does NOT EQUAL 60.
So, to me, it's not that great. Anyway, I've sold items a few times back to this place. Each time, I walk out, either sad, depressed, confused, mad, and then downright PISSED.
So, here's the process when you are selling items back.
Well, you walk in with usually huge bags. You go to the dreaded SELLERS counter and there, this "buyer" greets you. So, this buyer takes his/her thin young hands, usually painted nails of black chipped polish(and not Chanel black) or bitten stubby nails. So, they pry through your fashion treasures. These things that you saved every month for, these things that you spent way too much on American Express for, these things that makes CitiBank call your job too damn embarrassingly much. Well, you're proud. You know that you have some good shit... Well, at least I did... Each time...
So, you stand there with your head held high. You look over at another seller and quickly survey her items. You think, this sista ain't got jack on me. Her plastic hefty bag is filled with LEI jeans, Bongo jeans, and other teeny bopper crap.
Back to my transaction... So, these "buyers" go through your items. If there's something they want, they clothespin a price to it and calculate the amount on one of those large secretarial type calculators; if they don't want it, then they usually say, in a ridiculously syrupy voice, "Mam, we're going to pass on these b/c..." In your mind, you're thinking, are you crazy. PASS... I'll pass on your ass...
Well, this past Sunday, I go in with two large neatly packed bags. These bags were filled to the brim with great finds. Any person with any tasting of fashion would have loved 77.8% of the items in these bags. So, this buyer, starts going though my stuff. Let me let you know, that she looks about 18 and as if she just quit working at 5-7-9 or Contempo Casuals. So, I'm not really buying this "buyer" title. It's sort of like calling the folks at the cash registers Sales Associates. I ain't hating. i worked at Walgreen's. I was titled a Sales Associate. But I'll be damn if I ever did any associating or associate type responsibilities.
Anyway, so I notice this girl is looking at things but I'm not haring any whirring or whizzing on the register. She's politely folding all my clothes in one pile. Next, to the right of me, this woman selling Lee and Arizona jeans is busy racking up dollars. So, you know I was pissed.
So, I can feel my inner bitch starting to rise. So, I ask the "buyer" in a very chilling voice, "Mam, are you passing on those items?" I figured that I'd psyche her out by using BE terminology. So, she says, "yes." I ask her to go through each pass with me. Usually, in that silly syrupy voice, they go through each "pass" with you. She says, "I'm sorry, mam."
By this time, the poor girl is scared shitless.
Long story short, she passed on almost everything in my bag. So, my husband who was embarrassed and warning me to tame the bitch starts walking away. I say to her, "Mam, get someone else to help me." So, I get another buyer. This guy is a Senior Buyer. He goes through my things and takes a bit more. Still, not as much as I expected. Well, they have this neat little thought that they like to share. "Mam, with all the items that we passed on, we're willing to take them to a local shelter for you."
Well, here's the deal. You're already mad, upset and confused on how THESE people have the nerve to pass on YOUR fashion, so you definitely don't want to walk out with those bags... It's the Buffalo Exchange Walk of Shame. So, most folks, take the chicken route, and allow them to cart the treasures to a shelter. You make yourself feel better by thinking that some deserving person will not have access to that cute Theory skirt that's too short.
So, I allow my leftover to go to the shelter pile,after I got my measly chump change. I'll keep a little bit of dignity and not reveal the exact amount of pennies I received.
My husband then tells me, "You know they got you... They are so gonna put all that stuff back on the racks and sell it or go through it themselves and keep it."
He reminded me of a cute little sign that reads something like, "we reserve the right to change our minds." Basically, saying that they can pretend they don't want my stuff and pay me with food stamps, and then put my stuff back on the racks.
UGGGHHHH... I'm so mad, I can't even breathe...
If I wasn't so happy in my life with my husband, dog, friends, and family, I'd go back in there and go crazy on them. Crazy like Ed Norton in Fight Club.
So, yeah, no more Buffalo Exchange for me.
They must be crazy, cause I ain't.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)