I load up my basket, careful not to break anything. I have a special way of doing things at home so I get the right-sized pieces.
With no more room in my basket, I head up front with a spring in my step to leave my finds with the cashier.
“Oh, looks like you’re having a good shopping day,” says the blonde woman, who’s about my age.
“I can’t believe how much great stuff you have here. I’ll be right back.” I set my basket down, grab another, and head to the shelves to retrieve the rest of my glass. There’s no one else in the store, but I can’t help hurrying. My blood really starts pumping when I find exactly what I need.
There you are. Being that I’m only five five, I have to reach on my tippy-toes for the last black flute on the top shelf. My fingertips miss the mark, and I accidentally knock it over. The glass cracks and a piece goes flying to the floor.
Dammit. Rookie move. I look at the pieces. They’re still big enough to use, so I carefully place them in my basket. But when I bend over to grab the shard from the floor, I notice a green bottle on the bottom shelf. It’s covered in cabochons of every color.
Wait. I grab it and stand up straight, inspecting the thing. It’s the bottle I saw at the garage sale yesterday, and I know it’s the same because one of the yellow cabochons right near the bottom has a small defect. It’s kidney bean shaped instead of round.
No way. No. Way! What are the chances? Goose bumps erupt on my neck and shoot down my arms.
Then it occurs to me: That suit-hole grabbed it away just to donate it. What a turd. The guy probably got it home and realized it wasn’t perfect, so he donated it.
At least he didn’t throw it in the trash. Because as far as art glass goes, this one is unusual. Someone took the time to painstakingly hand blow the small round colored pieces and meld them to the bottle. Not with glue, but with glass. It probably took them weeks to make.
This is so going on the shelf in my living room. I have an entire wall displaying unusual glass.
I pick up the rest of the broken flute and carry the bottle with me to the front counter.
“This champagne flute is broken,” I tell the young woman, “but I can—”
“Oh. Let me see if I can find you another one.”
“It’s okay. I broke it, I buy it. I was just going to take it home and shatter it anyway. I make inlay glass mosaics.”
Her eyes gravitate to the colorful bottle in my hand. “You’re taking all this stuff home just to break it?”
The worried tone in her voice gives me the impression that she’s not happy about it. Strange. What does she care?
“Yes,” I say, “but I like to think I’m giving these old things a new purpose and showing people how to create rather than trash stuff.”
“Umm…would you mind, then, if I didn’t sell you that bottle? It’s just that it’s so pretty, and I was meaning to take it home. I forgot to tag it—silly me. I’d really hate to see it broken up.”
“Oh, I wasn’t planning to break the bottle. That’s for me to enjoy on a shelf. I collect art glass, too. But if you really want it—”
“In that case,” she says, “you take it. It’s just such an unusual item. Hated to see it destroyed.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” I ask one more time, just to be polite. I’d feel bad about buying it if she had her heart set on the thing.
“No, no. I insist. Take it.” She starts ringing everything up while I get out the bubble wrap and pack my items. I rest the bottle inside my bag on top of the other stuff.
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” she says.
What a steal! “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you. Come back and see us again.”
I dig a card from my oversized brown purse. “Hey, if you ever want to see what I do with all this glass, come by the farmers’ market downtown on Sundays or check out my website.” I always hand out cards to thrift store owners. Not that I expect them to buy my stuff, but it’s great to build relationships. Sometimes they’ll set aside specific colors of glass when it comes in.
She takes the card and looks at it. “Ginnie Angelico’s Fancy Glass,” she reads out loud.
“Yeah. I was going to just call my business Ginnie Angelico’s Glass, but that would spell out G-A-G. I had to add the word fancy.”
She laughs and slides the card in her pocket. “Nice to meet you, Ginnie. Good luck with your new life—I mean, creations.”