The first day of june, the summer before my sophomore year of high school, I moved from Missouri to a small, rural town in Wisconsin. I couldn't drive, didn't know a soul, was hormonal, bitter and bored.
Left to my feet, I discovered an old bowling alley down the street repurposed as a thrift store. It was poorly organized, employed the sweetest elderly woman, and chocked full of treasures. I rarely (if ever) saw another person in there and would spend my days digging through piles and perusing shelves.
They were due to permanently close at the end of the summer and I was a big time customer, so I got most of my things for free. Because of the leverage I had on my parents (how could you make me move when I'm in high school! My life is over!) I carried home boxes and old armchairs on a daily basis. Thrifting and wallowing in Coldplay's "Rush of Blood to the Head" was my summer of 2003 anthem.
All that to say, life got a lot better. I loved my high school experience AND scored some awesome curios.
To quote Chris Martin, "everything's not lost."
