Once a month, I do a complete purge of my high heeled shoes. Even reduced to like, $3 a piece, high heels don't really sell well unless they're insanely wacky with spikes, zippers, studs or otherwise good for ladies of the street corners. Don't get me wrong, I get that high heels in a landscape that sees snow at least three months out of a year isn't going to be as popular as boots with proper tread. But we get a decent inflow of heels from SOMEWHERE, so they are getting bought on the retail side, just not on the second-hand side.
It's kind of insulting, because my rule stands at "pristine, or nearly so," otherwise it gets recycled. So you're getting almost-new, quality heels for a few dollars.
Aaanyway, it's purge time. I send down a now-empty Canvas Basket Truck back to the donation door and spend a half hour filling my flat bed wagon with masses of high heels. Everything on the shelves is getting recycled, everything on the cart is going out. Three weeks of almost no motion is long enough, I say.
I go to the elevator and... huh... The empty roll around bin that I sent down is still on the elevator. This is unusual. We use these things to sort our crap and to send massive doses of donations to their respective areas to be processed. The donation door is pretty rabid about grabbing these back when they get returned.
Shrugging to myself, I call the elevator back up, put my wagon full o' heels and send it down. I then take the stairs nearest to the Donation door. I come out to a scene of desperate scrambling. The sorting table is piled higher than I am tall. The floor around it is covered in boxes of crap. And there's a line four cars long of people who are eager to dump a metric crapton of yard sale discards upon us.
Greaaat. Summer Yard Sale Season is in full swing.
Three people are desperately sorting through the piles; Scotty of Electronics (helpful passerby), James of Electronics (previous person on the door), and Jenny of Accessories (her hour on the door currently).
Me: "Huh... I WAS going to ask why y'all hadn't emptied the elevator yet but... question withdrawn."
Scotty: "Wise decision."
I hold up both hands in full surrender. "Hang on for just a sec. Let me pull my wagon out of the line of traffic and I'll help."
I sprint to the elevator, pull my stuff out of the way, then sprint back to the door and dive in. Common decency to your coworkers demands that you help when you spot trouble like this. Here, it's also nearly instant good karma, since being reluctant to jump in and assist can turn on you real fast.
It takes four of us half an hour to wrangle the massive mess under control. As the hour gets longer in the tooth, the line finally slows down. The tally board we keep shows 30+ people in the first hour, 20 in the second, 15 in the third, and 28 in this hour. This shit is insane.
Jenny sends Scotty and James off once it gets a little better under control. The two only have half of this hour to take their break, and they've already dedicated the first half of it to bringing the insanity under control. Time squeeze is happening. Go take your break while you can!
Fortunately the four of us have gotten it under control. Jenny and I are the remaining two, bashing out the last of the pile. Thankfully we get it into a semblance of order, though between cars, we were keeping a steady stream of bins running upstairs for people to distribute.
I now have 20 minutes to fully purge my heels and get the new ones situated. Why? Because NEXT hour, I'M the one on the door. This is why it is always wise to rescue coworkers in trouble. You will have a door shift soon, regardless of when in the day you work.
I managed to sweep the old shoes into garbage bags, then situated my new ones. Two minutes to Door time, I go back into the back with my wagon.
Me: "Hey Jenny, I'm gonna make use of the restroom before I free you."
Jenny: "No worries!"
In the end, she stayed with me for fifteen minutes as we handled a (much, much smaller) rush.
It will be this insane until August, folks. *whimper*
--Puppies In Prada