Goodwill Guy with a God Complex

Chuckle # 453 | May 25th, 2011
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I’m pretty selective about what I bring to Goodwill. Not because I’m embarrassed to donate stuff that isn’t perfect, but because the Goodwill Guy scares me. He has total control over what can go into the Goodwill trailer, and he makes his (seemingly random) decisions without regard for my tender feelings. He is judge, jury, gatekeeper, and the undisputed KING of the Goodwill fiefdom. And I am but a lowly serf.

No matter how unfair he may seem, do not attempt to argue with the Goodwill Guy. He easily takes offence, and he is not a merciful God.

I understand that it must get boring sitting on one’s godlike throne (aka camp chair) at the trailer all day long. So the pleasure Goodwill Guy takes in tormenting innocent do-gooders is probably to be expected. But that doesn’t make it right.

It has gotten to the point where I would almost rather leave my stuff in the “construction debris” area at the dump. Those guys don’t give me any guff. I set my Goodwill rejects down at the edge of the demolition debris and they’re usually gone before I turn my back.

Some people recognize a valuable lampshade when they see it.

There’s no stress and no power struggle when I leave my junk at the dump. On the other hand, there’s no IRS tax donation form either. And therein lies the true source of Goodwill Guy’s godlike powers.

Honestly, the guy is so unpredictable that I don’t know what to take to Goodwill anymore. Just last week he rejected my brand spanking new stretched canvas artwork but he TOOK the cowboy boot shaped beer vase. He claimed that the Goodwill shopper lacked the sophistication to appreciate inspirational art. I think he’s making dangerous assumptions.

Offloading all my valuable “stuff” on Goodwill requires some clever camouflage. Clothes are the one thing that Goodwill will always take because beat-up khakis and slightly imperfect Lacoste shirts can be shipped by the boatload to Africa at a profit. (That explains why you’ll sometimes see pictures of people in refugee camps looking like they are on their way to a polo match.)

So, to make a long story short, if I bury the “iffy” donations under a mound of good looking shirts, I can get rid of almost anything. The trick is to drive away before Goodwill Guy peels back the top layer and finds the 10 year old coffee grinder at the bottom of the box.

(I would argue that Goodwill shoppers must surely drink coffee, but that might make him mad enough to send a plague of locusts after me.)

Trying to clean out my garage shouldn’t be this stressful. I simply want to make a charitable donation and obtain that magical little slip of paper that allows me to take a massive, unsubstantiated tax write-off for my trouble.

If that is too much to ask, maybe it’s time I checked out “Salvation Army Guy.”
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