Vintage Veronica Read Free Page A

example, and another one of marching band uniforms), by type of piece (the silk smoking jackets live together, as do the leather biker jackets). Never by size. Since the Pickers never venture upstairs, theyprobably don’t know that there’s other stuff for sale on The Real Deal, too: jewelry, makeup, shoes, wigs, and costume props like swords and tiaras. It’s a huge store, and there’s stuff everywhere: feathered boas form a wall of curtains, sequined ball gowns shimmer from the rafters, and rows upon rows of false eyelashes wink at you from their perches above the jewelry counter mirrors.
    The decor of Dollar-a-Pound is pretty much like The Real Deal’s, only messier and more worn-out. For example, there’s an old vintage motorcycle hanging from the ceiling of The Real Deal, and there’s an even older Volkswagen Beetle (unnecessarily labeled THIS RIDE’S NOT FOR SALE !) parked on Dollar-a-Pound, right next to The Pile.
    The sign on the Volkswagen, like all the store signs, is painted in screaming neon pink and black. The Clothing Bonanza’s front door has this weird drawing of a neon-pink cat holding a huge black barbell above his head. One side of the barbell says, VINTAGE, PRACTICAL, AND CONTEMPORARY CLOTHING! The other side says SOMETHING FOR EVERYONE ! On the cat’s T-shirt it says OL’ RAGS . Apparently, Rags’s shirt was not deemed worthy of an exclamation mark.
    Rags is actually the name of one of the store cats, although he’s like Rags the Seventeenth or something. There are four or five other store cats and they all have names, but since I can’t tell them apart I think of them all as Rags. The store rules are also painted on pink and black signs, one by the cash registers on The Real Deal and one by Bill’s cash register on Dollar-a-Pound. Rule number seven is PLEASE DO NOT HARASS THE CATS ! Rags spends a lot of time sleeping on or in The Pile,where he is as likely to get harassed as he is anywhere else. Today, however, I don’t see him. Maybe he doesn’t like Fridays either.
    In case you’re wondering how I can work at Dollar-a-Pound when I hate it so much, let me set you straight:
    I don’t.
    I work in the Consignment Corner, which is on the floor two flights up from Dollar-a-Pound. This floor is known as Employees Only!, which is for EMPLOYEES ONLY !, as the pink and black sign on the door leading upstairs emphatically states. Employees Only! and Dollar-a-Pound are not only two flights of stairs apart, they’re pretty much a whole world apart. They are connected, however, by a long metal chute. The chute starts at a metal bin near my desk and runs vertically through the store, cutting through ceilings and floors, and ending at the hole in the ceiling directly above The Pile. It is my job to weed through the clothing that people bring in and decide what should go to the good racks on The Real Deal and what should get dumped down the chute to The Pile. In effect, it is my job to keep The Pile well fed.
    My boss, Claire, calls banishing something down the chute “depping” it. When she first said it, I gave her a confused look.
    “Dep. Stands for Dollar-a-Pound,” she explained.
    “Not ‘dap’?” I asked. Claire furrowed her brow and considered this.
    “No, it’s dep,” she finally said. “Like, now I’m gonna dep this skanky old shirt.” She took a ratty T-shirt and threw it in the direction of the chute to demonstrate.
    Because my job is in the Consignment Corner, I don’t have to do any “floor time” in retail land on either of the lower floors. In fact, I barely have to interact with anyone, which suits me just fine. I just deal with the clothes, which is great because I’m all about the clothes. I’ll take clothes over people any day of the week.
    The truth is, I have a serious vintage clothing problem. I’ve been crawling around vintage stores, tag sales, and flea markets since I was a kid. Sometime shortly after my dad moved out, trolling them together became our