Today I’m excited to begin a series documenting some of the most embarrassing moments in my life. We’ll go in reverse chronological order, starting here with an event from late September, 2011.
It seemed like a great idea. Months ago I’d completed a culling session of my dresser and come out with two things that absolutely had to go: a pair of brown Gap corduroys that puffed out too much at the bottom, and a blue wool half-zip sweater I’d bought at Macy’s for $25 and had begun to pill after just one wash. Discovering that the Goodwill on Castro and Market had already closed, I decided to try offloading the clothes at Crossroads Trading Company. I’d get some store credit to boot, I thought, and maybe walk out with a chill pair of pants.
If you’re unfamiliar with Crossroads, it’s a consignment store that sells trendy threads for less. They get their clothes primarily from drop-in sellers—buying on the cheap and selling back to the public for profit. It’s like a thrift store, but more expensive and without the creepy housewares section. I’ve made some nice finds at Crossroads, including my favorite blue blazer and a soft, fuzzy wool vest, but this was to be my first time selling clothes.
I strode into the store in the sunny center of a weekday. I was all smiles, freshly unemployed and happy to be out and about in the quiet time between rush hours. I proudly announced my intention to sell some clothes to the two girls working the counter, and was instructed to head around the corner and sign in. I checked my backpack, stuck the tag in my pocket, and rounded the counter to the middle of the store, signing my name on a list behind a couple of other clothes-sellers and starting to peruse the pants. After a few minutes my brother called, and as I scooted out the door to speak with him the alarm went off, blaring loudly but fortunately stopping as I jumped back inside and handed the tag to one of the girls behind the counter.
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