cheap thrills Harding student’s search for Beebe resale items I had always loved the thrill of “thrifting”— or, as I liked to call it, the modern day treasure hunt. Compliment my shirt on any given day, and I was bound to brag about how I got it for less than a dollar. I liked to think that this passion stems from my unique, creative eye or my insatiable thirst for discovery.Whatever the reasoning, my love of bargains served me well, allowing me to enjoy extensively all the low-priced joys Searcy had to offer. Yet, for the truly enterprising thrifter, there lay a wide world of bargains outside Searcy’s limits. For those willing to log a mere 17 miles on their odometer, the town of Beebe offered a veritable bounty of cheap thrills. On the Saturday I visited,there were three yard sales taking place within a three-mile radius, not to mention the two flea markets virtually across the street from each other. My main concern was with the one on the right, however — a friendly looking, barn style building whose name was also an invitation: “Do Drop In.” Happily, I accepted. The signs greeting customers as they walked through the entrance served as a fair warning for what they could expect from the Beebe flea market. The front cashier’s desk was littered with the décor favored by tacky yet sassy aging Southern women — tin signs reading witticisms such as “Middle Age isWhen a BroadMind and a NarrowWaist Change Places”or “Caught Between the Young and the Restless and the Old and the Senseless.” Giving the place a cursory glance, I was not surprised to see that I was one of the few here that morning without white hair. Upon further investigation, I concluded that this place would be perfect for anyone looking to redecorate their grandmother’s house.There was certainly no shortage of porcelain dolls, framed cross-stitchings or ceramic table centerpieces shaped like farm animals. Or, if matronly was not quite your scene, the Do Drop In flea market also favored those with more naturalistic decorating tendencies.There were enough framed pictures of bird life to make the Audubon Society proud, along with hosts of deer painted serenely onto their canvas homes — all, presumably, just waiting to be shot. Like any good thrift store, the staples were all here: dusty old kitchen supplies, stacks of archaic cassette tapes, exorbitant quantities of trashy romance novels and VHS tapes. Yet, for all of these givens, the true joy of this, or any flea market experience, was in the completely unexpected — and unexplainable. For instance, I was not sure why the giant two-and-a-half foot ceramic owl lamp tempted my normally prudent spending habits like it did, but a persistent voice inside my head, which I had to summon all my willpower to ignore, assured me that I could find some use for it.Two questions continually repeated themselves as I perused the flea market’s shelves. For one, people actually bought this stuff? And furthermore, people actually owned this stuff? Thrifting was not for the faint of heart. After about an hour, even I began to grow weary of the many rooms and overwhelming selection. Yet for the resolute, the long-suffering and the bored-with-nothing-better-to-do’s, there was gold at the end of this rainbow of junk. For me, it was twin window frames at only $3.99 apiece that would look lovely on my apartment wall. It was not much, but as every good thrifter knew, everyone’s gold took a different form.One man’s trash was another man’s treasure.One man’s oversizedowl lampwas anotherman’s…subconscious attempt to humiliate his family? I was not sure what whoever had that thing on layaway ultimately intended it for, but that was half the fun: imagining. [Jessica Merrill] [freshmen] 121
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