I tried to get out…

But they pulled me back in

By Susan Caba
The Resale Evangelista

Uh-oh, I’ve become one of those people.

You know, the people who drop something off at Goodwill, then go inside to see what they need. Well, okay–I’ve been one of those people for many years. But I recently took a turn for the worse. I became one of those people who loiter around the door to the backroom, waiting for new stuff.

Didn’t I say it was bad? I know, very bad.

In my defense, I was waiting for a specific item. I spotted it–a KitchenAid MixMaster–on the pricing desk as I was donating a box containing two small oil paintings, a brand-new Swiss hot chocolate pot and a 50mm Nikon lens, among other highly valuable items. “When is that going out?” I asked the attendant, lifting my chin toward the mixer.  “About a half hour,” he said.


“I don’t care what it’s called!” said a woman testing the first home mixer on a stand. “It’s the best kitchen aid I’ve ever had!” And thus, a brand was born.


So I went inside and posted myself in housewares, just outside the swinging door marked “Employees Only” that is all-too-familiar to Goodwill patrons. At my favorite Goodwill, in St. Louis, I looked scornfully at the regulars who gathered outside the door every Thursday evening (a heavy restocking period), waiting to pounce on new merchandise as it appeared. “Get a life,” I thought. And yes, I did recognize that I was in the store often enough to know these people as “regulars.” I, however, am not a pouncer.

Or I wasn’t. Goodwill was relatively busy that day, so I didn’t stray too far from the swinging door lest some other fleet-fingered shopper spy the KitchenAid and spoil my big score. I determined that I would pay up to $50 for the MixMaster. New, they cost almost $300.


The KitchenAid home mixer cost $189.50 when it was introduced in 1919–$2,200 in today’s dollars. The mixer and the price were both refined in 1936. The weight was trimmed from 65 pounds to about 30 and the price was cut to $55. (Thanks, Jitterbuzz, for the KitchenAid page!)


My mother had a MixMaster when I was a little girl. It was white, with black trim. As I recall, it had two beaters. Since there were four kids, two of us got a beater each to lick, someone else got the bowl and the fourth person took the spatula–or as we called it, the scraper. I always made it a point to lick the outside of the beater, then did tongue twists to get the batter from the inner surfaces.

It’s hard to say whether my (temporary) conversion to a door-hanger constitutes a degradation in my habits, or a step up to a higher, more discerning level of thrift shopper. Anyway, i wasn’t doing it for myself, I was cherry-picking for a friend.

(Which reminds me of the time my then-10-year-old brother said to my sister, Mary, on her 16th birthday, “Let’s go down to the pasture and hug and kiss under the moonlight!” When the rest of us hooted, he said, “Oh, I’m not doing it for me–I’m doing it for her, because she can’t get anyone else.”)

kitchenAid ad

Vintage KitchenAid advertisement

I digress. My friend Maryann mentioned she wanted a MixMaster for a friend whose disability makes it difficult for to hold a mixer and turn the bowl simultaneously. As I said, a new MixMaster costs almost $300, more than Maryann wanted to spend. So there I was, loitering–and drawing weird looks from other shoppers. I think they suspected I knew something good was about to appear and they were considering whether they, too, should loiter. I may be paranoid about that, but I don’t think so.

The door swung in, the door swung out. Nothing good appeared. I strayed just far enough to find a tennis ball basket with a handle that converts to a stand, for $2.99. I have such a basket. But its handles are hard to use. This basket was much better. I put it in my cart.

Finally, the swinging doors opened yet again and there it was–a slightly grubby but still majestic MixMaster, white under a spattering of old cookie dough. All the accoutrements, or at least the basics, were present and accounted for: Aluminum bowl with removable rims to keep the batter from splashing, a beater, some kind of paddle and a bread hook hefty enough  to tow a car.

The Goodwill staffer made a sharp right at the aisle containing kitchenware. Before he could get it out of his cart, I was by his side. Goodwill protocol required him to actually put it on the shelf, rather than right into my basket. I hefted it myself, without even glancing at the price sticker: $4.99.

Four dollars and 99 cents, people! And when I got it home and plugged it in, it worked! Another fruitful day spent Goodwill shopping.

The Resale Evangelista is simplifying, clarifying and trying to live a more artful life.

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