Yesterday I took a box of donations to a local charity shop - our current clear out of the old games room has turned up a lot of perfectly good stuff that we don't need. The only remarkable thing about this is that it was the first time I have donated to a charity shop for twenty years, so traumatic did I find my last experience! That was in February 1997, a couple of weeks after my Dad died. My Mum asked me to take some of his clothes to a charity shop, some really good suits that she didn't want to throw away. I felt so sad, but I dutifully packed the clothes into a couple of sturdy bags and set off. When I got there the shop was quite busy. I waited in line and then said, "Hello, I've brought some donations, where would you like me to put them?" The lady behind the counter said loudly, "Do you really WANT me to TELL you where I'd like you to put them?" Now I realised even at the time that she was sort of joking, but I was just devastated. After all they were my Dad's clothes. I couldn't even speak, I just put the bags down and ran out of the shop. When I got to the car I put my head in my hands and cried and cried.
So when I went into the shop yesterday I was apprehensive. (It was a different shop but that's not the point!) However this time the lady in charge just thanked me pleasantly and I went on my merry way.
No comments:
Post a Comment