Things Second Hand

I once saw an episode of ‘Hoarders’ where a distraught, teary woman was trying to clean her mothers house, much to the mothers anger. The mother was reluctant to throw anything away as it was all «useful» and the daughter was growing increasingly frustrated.
The show eventually climaxed when the daughter lifted a box revealing a decaying kitty carcass… Mother begins to acknowledge she may have a problem.
Now imagine the Westgarth community is the daughter and the shop owner is the mother and you have ‘Things Second Hand’.
The shop is rather legend and opening hours are almost non existent, if you do happen to chance a peek be careful navigating through the two narrow foot paths that wind through to the back of the store. Think tea cups, records, old books, shoes, chairs, dust, pot plants, brass, bric a brac.
Wear gloves and a smile.

You know that scene in Labyrinth where Davie Bowie fixation Sarah finds herself in The Junk Lady’s Junk Pile and when asked «What’s the matter my dear, don’t you like your toys?» Sarah retorts «It’s all junk!» When I left Things Second Hand for the first time, this is how I felt.
I thought everything I’d heard about Things Second Hand was trifling Westgarth urban legend. «The owner doesn’t actually like selling things, jacking up prices to dissuade buyers» I heard. «That’s tantamount to commercial suicide» I thought, «Crazy…can’t be true!» That is until I put this place under surveillance.
After eight months of living in Westgarth and monitoring Things Second Hand like Big pawn shop Brother, I can honestly say I’ve only seen Things Second Hand open a handful of times. And when this odd little shop does deign to open its doors it’s usually about 10pm on an inclement Monday night with a three-​legged chair wedged firmly in the doorway to dissuade potential buyers.
If you do manage to make it through the door you’ll find a mish mash of vintage and second hand clothes, accessories, books and furniture and you’ll practically have to bushwhack your way through the store to reach any stock, such is its eternal crammedness.
The first and only time I managed to pass the threshold said eccentric owner tried to strong-​arm me into buying a very suspicious looking sewing machine opining that if young people have time for computers they should ruddy well learn how to sew. Slightly odd commercial approach aside; I can’t fault her logic.