Ragpicker

I work at Goodwill as a ragpicker.  Basically, I go through the donated clothes, keeping the clothes that are clean, have all their buttons and or working zippers, unstained, no pills, or holes.  I save shoes with mates and beautiful surfaces.

That's the theoretical description.  The reality is that the clothes are usually filthy, wrinkled, covered in animal hair, reeking of mouse piss (and decorated with mouse turds), pilly (we call it "bally"), and holier than thou.  The shoes stink, the insides are pilly/bally, and they're usually el cheapo singles.

According to the caste system, one of the jobs that untouchables do is ragpicking.  It's a gross job, sifting through someone's trash.  But - you learn.  What do people do?  How old are they?  Do they have kids, and how old are the kids?  Do they tapdance, play golf, or run track?  Do they have a mouse problem?  (And lordy, some do. even with kitty sleeping on their clothes.)

It's humbling.  It's weird.  I feel the life attached to some of the clothes, how sick and frail some of the people were, and seeing stains on their pajamas to reflect that.  Some days the mouse shit and the sadness slow me down.

I come home and take a shower, rinse the "ick" off my body, irrigate the mousiness out of my nose.