An antique store lay nestled in a quiet street near the city’s heart. Crockery, furniture, bedding, books, homeware; you could find everything here. It had a delightfully eclectic combination of oddities that never seemed to gel. There was a hand-painted ceramic salad bowl next to a wicker chair, a collection of retro magazines laid over a computer desk and vintage spoons stacked upon china plates.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and two people were in the store. The first was an older lady in her 50s who had stopped to look at a pile of slow cookers slowly gathering dust. The other was a young man in his early twenties fumbling through mismatched Tupperware.
Wendy looked up from the back of the store as she heard the doorbell chime. An elderly man walked in dressed in corduroy pants and a white button-up shirt. He was holding a vase in his arms. As he approached, Wendy couldn’t help but notice the intricate details of the vase. Worn but warm, aged but brimming with life, the vase slowly approached and came to rest on top of the stained mahogany desk, moonlighting as a counter.
“I wanted to see how much I could get for this?” The old man said in a whispered tone.
Standing by the desk, Wendy saw the wrinkles on his face and the wiry grey hairs bursting from underneath his cheese cutter hat.
“Hmmm, let me look closer,” Wendy replied cautiously. She never wanted to get her clients’ hopes up, but more importantly, she didn’t want to buy a dud–something that called the shop home and gathered dust in a forgotten corner. Nothing here was worth much. Wendy’s clientele wasn’t the type for big purchases. She had students trying to fill their flats, retirees saving pennies, and the occasional thrifty hipster looking to add a delightfully second-hand item to their expensive homes.
Picking up the vase, Wendy could tell it was carefully crafted. It was smooth, with a tapered top offset by a round base. The vase was a pleasant cream with yellow stripes as warm as sunshine streaking around it, mirrored by calming hints of blue. It was hand-painted and heavy in her hands. The lines had begun delicately bleeding into each other, a testament to the time it had endured and the skill used for its creation.
“It was made in Turkey,” the man said. “I bought it at a bazaar when my wife and I were on our honeymoon nearly 40 years ago. You should have seen this place. It was a sea of colourful tents sprawling across the horizon. And the smell was incredible! Spices I had never heard of. I can’t remember all their names, but I never ate food as delicious as that again.”
“Ahh, that’s lovely. It sounds like an amazing trip away,” Wendy replied. At stores like this, customers had a habit of oversharing. Particularly the retired clients who had too much time on their hands. It was never as simple as an item to be sold. Most pieces, especially the interesting ones, came with a story. When she started working here, Wendy would listen wide-eyed, soaking in as much as possible. Now she had heard it all before. It was polite to nod along and umm and ahh in agreement - especially when they were buying something.
“It was,” the old man replied. “I just wish we could have gone back again before she passed.”
“I’m sorry about that.” She stared at the vase in her hands, still trying to determine its value. “It must have been a beautiful trip you shared.”
“It was. The best holiday we ever had. I’ve always loved this vase, but the time has come for me to move somewhere with more care. My hips are not what they used to be. It would have killed me to throw this out, so I hope it can find a new home here.”
“You don’t have any family that would want it?” Wendy replied.
“They’re all overseas now, with kids of their own. They don’t want boxes of their old man’s junk. So, I’ve brought it to a place where it might be appreciated. Still, getting old isn’t cheap. Any extra money goes a long way. Besides, my wife would have hated to have it stored in the cupboard. This was the first thing we bought together as husband and wife. She always thought that every treasure needs to be loved.”
As the old man finished talking, Wendy peered closer at the vase. Sentimental value doesn’t translate to income. She knew it was high quality, but she couldn’t make much with no brand attached.
“It’s a lovely piece. I’m not sure I can give you what it’s worth. I’m sorry. These things never sell well in a place like this.”
“I’m happy with whatever you offer. I don’t have the heart to take it home again.”
Wendy wasn’t the type to lowball. Most of the items she received were donations or someone’s spring cleaning. It was rare for something of value to arrive at the store. The seller would quickly leave once they figured out she couldn’t pay the amount they wanted.
“This is all I can do if that’s ok?” She knew it wouldn’t sell for much more, but she could hardly turn him away after hearing his story. Wendy wrote a figure on paper and slid the offer across the counter. She always liked to show them the price. It made the offer feel more real.
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
Wendy put the vase on the back counter, took the cash from her register and handed it to the man.
“If you have anything else you want to sell, please come in again,” Wendy said as the man opened his faded brown leather wallet to put the money away.
“I will. A lovely little store you have here. My wife would have loved this place,” the man said after a pause. “Well, I’ll be on my way then. Thank you again for all your help.”
“No worries at all, my pleasure,” Wendy replied, watching the man leave.
Wendy arrived in the morning with snow blocking the door entrance. These past few months had gone by quickly, and snow had begun to fall. With a sigh, she headed to her car to collect her shovel. Often in winter, the snow gathered, and the door wouldn’t open. It could be slippery for the customers. So, Wendy would diligently shovel away the pile, spread salt on the pavement to remove the ice, and place a doormat at the entrance so no one would slip. The shop was quiet during winter. People stayed inside more, and the humdrum of the city was replaced with a whisper. Still, people loved a bargain. So, if someone walked into the store, they often bought something. Wendy had worked at this store for three years. It was owned by an older married couple who inherited the business long ago. They took a backseat approach and let Wendy run the day-to-day. Occasionally, they would pop in to check on things.
Wendy looked up from her desk as the door chimed open. “Hi Wendy,” the visitor said exuberantly.
“Oh, hi Margaret. I didn’t think you were coming in today?” Wendy replied, surprised to see the owner on a cold, damp day.
“Well, I was in the neighbourhood and thought I’d pop in for a nosey. It’s so quiet around here. How have the sales been this week?”
“They’ve been ok. It’s always slow in winter, but we’ve had a couple of great donations recently that will sell well.” Wendy wasn’t lying, but she was stretching the truth. Winter was a hard time for businesses like this, and given the recession, people spent less on the eclectic. Still, this collection of oddities stood strong. Able to weather the passage of time, with good days balancing the bad ones.
“I’m so pleased,” Margaret replied. “You know we’ve been thinking about selling the shop again? If you wanted to make an offer, we’d give you a great deal.”
“Thanks, Margaret. I’m happy where I am, but I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Wendy had heard this a few times since she started working here. The first time Wendy got the offer, she spent a gruelling week contemplating the decision. After checking her finances, making phone calls with the bank, and putting together a business plan, Margaret reconsidered.
“Oh Wendy, I’m sorry. Now just isn’t the best time to sell.”
Wendy liked her little life. The guardian of oddities her mother had jokingly called her. She was content spending her days immersed in a world of eclectic treasures.
Another quiet day. Wendy had made a few small sales. On days like this, she would rearrange the table displays or dust the shelves. A stained oak table sat in the shop’s centre with items Wendy thought would be popular. She made changes every week so customers would see something fresh if they visited often. Wendy liked to create sets. She would bring items from all different walks of life together into one harmonious balance. The displays were an art form, and it took Wendy several months before she started liking her arrangements.
Anytime someone purchased something from her table, Wendy got a sense of satisfaction, as if someone was complimenting her directly. Wendy would find treasures hidden in the store’s corners and proudly watch as someone picked them up with a smile. Wendy gave items that had been lonely for months a fresh start, and people often bought them within a few days. The table looked empty. Casting her eye over the store, she pondered over what to display next. She had a full china set that had got little attention, and there was a beautiful set of model trains donated a few weeks ago. Looking at the shelves that lined the store, Wendy stopped as something caught her attention.
“The vase”, she said aloud to an empty store. Wendy had completely forgotten about it. Approaching the shelf, she remembered the old man who had sold it to her a few months ago. Taking a closer look, Wendy realised just how striking it was. Even as the dust settled, the yellow lines were still full of life. Its immaculate craftsmanship surprised her; she wondered why it hadn’t sold. A good cleaning was needed, but Wendy knew there was something special about it. Wendy centred the vase on the display table, then added a white orchid succulent. Around the vase, she assembled a series of hand-crafted mugs, woven placemats with cutlery set and some fine white china. It felt like home.
Everything on the table was low-lying except for the vase. It stood as the centre of attention, proudly displayed as the focal point. Ushered from the dreary shelves it once inhabited, the cream base radiated warmth, and the yellow stripes reflected off the surrounding ceramics. Wendy stood back to admire her work. No matter where she was in the room, the vase demanded attention. Her finest display yet, she thought. How much had she bought it for again? The memory escaped her. As Wendy checked the price, more memories of the old man came flooding back. He bought it with his wife in Turkey. He was a warm soul, and Wendy smiled as she remembered him sharing the details of his honeymoon. Wendy thought to wish him well, as he hadn’t been back in the shop since that day.
When Wendy returned the next morning, more snow had piled by the door. Wendy adopted her usual cleaning routine before opening. The day was overcast and cold. It had been a quiet week so far, and she still had a way to go to meet her weekly target. The slow days are part of the charm of a store like this. But lately, Wendy had seen too many for her liking. Her day began like any other. Wendy replaced any change given out the day before and opened the register. Music was an important part of the atmosphere, so Wendy often spent her nights curating a playlist to set the mood. She had found herself enthralled in the world of Earl Klugh and George Benson. So, today’s mood was one of smooth jazz. After vacuuming and dusting, Wendy returned to the counter, ready to welcome her first customer. At 9 am, the door chimed open.
“Welcome,” she politely said from her desk. Wendy knew not to hassle customers. People rarely came looking for a particular item. She found it better to offer a friendly welcome and let them approach her.
A young couple in their late twenties walked in. The lady smiled warmly, and the man politely nodded as they stepped inside. They were striking in their own way—she had long, blonde hair flowing past her shoulders and he had a sharp jawline framed by light stubble. Their clothes told a different story. Both wore oversized, faded garments that seemed like they belonged to someone else. The layers hung on them like borrowed pieces, practical more than stylish. Wendy wasn’t unfamiliar with customers like this, people trying to make do with what they had while looking for something useful within their budget.
The couple started walking through the store as Wendy watched on, careful not to make eye contact. Idling between homeware and kitchen accessories, they immersed themselves in the various goods on display.
After a short time, the man spoke up. “Excuse me, how much is this?” Wendy saw him holding a red cast-iron baking dish.
“Oh, there isn’t a price tag? Sorry about that. Around $130, it’s a Le Creuset in great condition.”
Wendy saw the couple glance at each other before putting the dish down.
“Ahh, thank you. A little out of our price range.”
The couple spent the next few minutes examining the range of goods on display. Picking things up, flipping them over before putting them back down again with a sigh.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” Wendy asked after seeing them so unsure.
“Not really,” the woman replied. “We’ve just moved into a new apartment and looking for a few things to fill the space. Money’s tight, so we thought we’d stumble across a few bargains.”
“That’s exciting! Everything is priced differently. So you really need to look around to find the gems.”
“This is a great shop you have. I love everything in here. Do you source these yourself? Or are they donations?”
“A bit of both. People come in to sell their things when they’re moving. We get lots of donations from estates or when someone can’t pay their rent on a storage unit. My manager also buys things occasionally.”
“That’s incredible! I’d love to work in a place like this. You must buy so many things for yourself.”
“I did when I first started. But I’m running out of room at my place, so I’ve learned to only buy things I really need.”
“It must be hard to tell the difference between what you want and need.”
“I guess it can be. Sometimes.” The conversation seemed to come to a natural end as the couple continued browsing the store. Wendy looked up as the door chimed open again. An older lady walked in wearing a floral dress, underdressed for the weather. Wendy gave her a warm smile, which the visitor mirrored.
“The weather turned on me. I should have checked the forecast again,” the stranger said, rubbing her hands through her wet hair.
“I can never seem to get it right lately. It just won’t make its mind up.”
“Just like me then,” the stranger laughed as she trailed off to browse the store.
Wendy returned to her task at hand, pricing a series of recently donated mugs. The store didn’t have a PoS system, so Wendy would have to handwrite the prices on a sticker and place it on each item. Any time something sold, she would record it in an A4 book to reconcile later. As Wendy placed a sticker on the mug she was holding, she looked up at the couple standing at her central display. They smiled as they discovered the world of peculiarities that inhabited the store. After a moment, Wendy realised they were staring at the vase. Wendy put down the mug and walked over.
“Such a beautiful piece, isn’t it?” Wendy said to the couple, breaking them out of their transfixion.
“It’s stunning. The colours are so vibrant, makes the space feel cozy,” the lady replied.
“I was just saying it would look perfect on our dining room table,” the man added. “We don’t have much in the apartment, but we both fell in love.”
“The vase was handmade in Turkey. I remember a sweet old man coming in a few months back. He and his wife bought it on their honeymoon. I just put it on the table yesterday. It had been sitting on one of the back shelves for far too long.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. I can’t believe something like this would end up in a store here. No offense.”
“It’s ok. That’s the beauty of these things. You never know what you might find when you’re not looking.”
“We came in for something practical, though. I’m not sure we can justify spending much.”
After a brief pause, the lady spoke up again.
“Did you know the price?”
Wendy paused as she picked up the vase to show them the price tag on the bottom. Wendy saw their eyes light up as they read the tag.
“We’ll take it,” the lady said after a slight pause.
“Fantastic. I’m so glad it’s going to a place that will appreciate it. Would you like me to wrap it in tissue for you?”
“Yes please, that would be great.”
Wendy took the vase, walked to the counter, covered in items still needing to be priced, and carefully peeled the price tag off the bottom. Opening her A4 book, she marked the first sale of the day. Cream vase, handmade. Taking two sheets of tissue, she carefully wrapped the vase before placing it in a worn brown paper bag. After handing it to the man, Wendy took the cash that was placed on the table.
“Thank you so much. We love it. Once we’ve settled into work, we’ll have to come back to see what else you have.”
“Absolutely. I’d love to see you again.”
Wendy smiled as the couple exited the store. She heard the door chime and watched them walk past the front window on their way. The weather was still cold outside, and she saw the man grab a beanie from his jacket pocket and put it on. After the beanie fit snugly on his head, he grabbed his partner’s hand, and they both walked further than she could see.
Wendy looked at her display. A shame it hadn’t lasted long; the good ones never do. Wendy searched the store for something to replace the vase. Scanning over the rows of mismatched items, she landed on a colourful fruit bowl. Far wider than it was high. Wendy picked up the bowl and placed it on the centre display. It wasn’t as nice as the vase. Thinking back, she wondered if the man who sold it to her had settled into his rest home. She wondered if he missed the vase that brought back so many memories. Having a reminder of his wife in a room they had never shared would make it feel more like home. Still, Wendy found comfort in the fact it was going somewhere where fresh memories would be made. She hoped the colours wouldn’t fade and that the warmness of the piece would radiate throughout their apartment. Lost in a train of nostalgic thought, Wendy didn’t notice the other customer approaching.
“Excuse me. I’d like to buy this.”
Coming to her senses, Wendy saw her other visitor holding a small purple velvet cushion.
“Perfect. I’ll pop it in a bag for you.”
Wendy heard the door chime open again as she walked to the counter. Turning her head, she saw a mother walk in, holding a small child’s hand. As Wendy placed the cushion in a bag, she saw the child walking towards an old wooden rocking horse with a smile on their face. She couldn’t remember how long the horse had been there. Looking back, a friend of Margaret’s passed away, and then it was donated. She was an older lady with no children of her own. Wendy saw the child climb on it and call to their mother. Hopefully, it will find a new home today as well.
