I am rather surprised I was never talked to by a police officer or a government official.
Digestive systems, walkie talkies, cars, bombs, rifles anything at all, I loved learning how they worked and how they were built. Name something and I would probably love to hear or see how it worked. I liked that in most things, knowing how they worked. Yet, I found an odd fascination in actually taking the things apart and seeing how they worked from the inside. If it didn’t, I would throw it in the bin. If it blinked, flickered or made a noise, I could price it and put it on the shelf. The only procedure I really had to do was pop open the battery compartment, take out any batteries and test the toy to see if it worked. By that I meant, I would take apart the toy itself, seeing how it worked inside. I have to admit, if someone was battery operated, I would usually do more than I needed to do. This is the story of a rattling inside a toy walkie talkie. Yet, this story is not about how I wiped shit off of high chairs, that is a horror story for another time. One wasn’t so bad but the other four might as well have been made of a mixture of saliva and baby food poo because you couldn’t see any of the material underneath it. I could count a number of high chairs I wiped dried fluids off of, it was five. It was the kind of stuff that was meant for the skips and tips, things that bin men should pick up, not volunteers who weren’t being paid any measly amount to wipe off dried feces from a baby’s high chair. Yet, every charity shop also has the same problem getting a whole load of random rubbish donated by someone with a plastered smile on their face.
A number of fake walkie talkies, little RC cars and whatever other battery-operated bullshit I had to take apart with the help of my grubby fingers and a cheap screwdriver, I don’t wish to try and count that. When you work in a charity shop, you quickly become friendly with screws, especially if it’s a children charity shop.
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