Soooo GWOS!

As in, "the Goodwill Outlet is sooooo GWOS!" As in, I am a Goodwill Outlet Snob. Briton and I ducked into the outlet in search of a new phone last night (heady date-stuff, I know). I left with a strong desire to find the nearest decontamination unit.

If you've never been to a Goodwill outlet, then permit me to paint a picture. The outlet is a cavernous, warehouse-type room with about five aisles of waist-high, 6 foot long bins on wheels. The bins are full of piles of Stuff, haphazardly thrown together in a soupy mix of clothing, electronics, vintage suitcases and ... phones.

A large sign, hanging from chains attached to the ceiling, indicates that Stuff is purchased by the pound. Once we figured out the System (none), we began our search; strategically splitting up to maximize our time. I discovered one phone, half buried under a pre-Pentium computer monitor. Holding the prize at arms'-length, pinched between thumb and pointer finger, I wandered across the room to Briton who was elbow-deep in a phone cord spaghetti ball. He was trying to find a matching handset and base. The number pad on one handset was held in place by scotch tape. Another handset required batteries. (We want one that doesn't need batteries to avoid our current problem).

As we pooh-poohed various phones, I got to thinking about used phones and how, even if they're given a chlorine workover, is it possible they are ever really clean? All that stale spittle and bad breath conversed into used phones. And rough whiskers, earwax, sweaty heads, etc. Does it ever come out? We left without a phone.