I love old furniture. When I was a kid, my dad (a fireman in inner-city St. Louis) would drag me to junk shops. He would let me pick out a toy while he perused the latest arrival of urban refuse. I found some great stuff in there, too—a Cookie Monster puppet, a Bionic Man action figure. I had no idea I was suppose to want something new and shiny, so these objects received my unadulterated affection. I learned to find great pleasure in digging through mini-mountains of discarded toys to find my next treasure.

My Dad always hauled something home too. Whether it be an old floor model radio from the 30s, or an upholstered rocking chair from the 40s, or an antique piano (even though no one in my family knew the first thing about playing it). For years our garage was filled with all this stuff until my Mom got fed up and held a series of garage sales to get rid of it all—yes, it took quite a few. And my dad is still angry. But I’m forever in debt to my him for showing me how to appreciate the finer things in life: Other people’s junk.

The best part about loving other people’s junk is that it’s hard to be disappointed. It usually comes with a pretty cheap price tag, or, even better, free. And by definition it is usually something out of the ordinary or outdated, two qualities I greatly admire.

The second best thing about other people’s junk occurred to me recently, in this day of trying-to-be-green consumerism: It is actually a form of recycling! Now you can feel good about being poor and having to shop at thrift stores and garage sales!

But it’s just an added perk to my already hyper-obsession with old furniture. So if you dare to jump aboard this particular bandwagon in the Green Revolution, here are a few tips in thrifting for furniture:

• Thrift stores, Salvation Armys, junks shops and the like usually renew their inventory on Tuesdays. I don’t know why, but they do. This is not hard and fast rule, so ask the counter person when they usually get stuff in and plan on going that day. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there in the land of thrifting and the early bird gets the awesome new pole lamp.
• Many junks shops/antique stores have their own aesthetic. Usually the guy or girl selling also has a fascination with a particular kind of junk. So find a shop with a similar sensibility to your own and make it a routine to hit it now and then.
• Don’t be afraid to haggle. (Except in a Salvation Army or Goodwill. The sales people there will just laugh at you.) I love this part. This is what almost makes the whole transaction worth it. You pick a price that said item should be worth, and see how close you can get the shop owner to that price.

You can really get some great stuff, especially in more rural areas or small cities populated by lots of senior citizens—Pittsburgh, I’m lookin’ at you! My entire house is filled with used items. The only new thing I own is my computer. And a cheap-ass rug, because those are real hard to find used and in non-disgusting condition.

I find it comforting to fill my space with artifacts from our past. I guess in a weird way it keeps my life in focus by reminding me of who I am and where I came from. Owning used furniture is a more personal experience. Even though it used to belong to someone else, once you buy it, it becomes wholly original and completely specific to you as a person. It transcends “used” status and becomes “one-of-a-kind.”

For instance, my latest greatest find is an orange sectional couch, a la 1969. And this brings me to my fourth and final tip for thrifting: Persistence.

It was love at first sight. I found it in one of my regular junk shop haunts. But the bastard owner, usually known to be somewhat fair-minded about pricing and bargaining, wanted $1,200 for it. “No,” I said to myself. “This couch is $800.” Which I know is still kind of pricey, but just check out the pic. You can sail to Europe on the thing after the ice caps melt.

I very politely asked the sales lady how much she thought the owner would be able to go down on the price. She smiled and picked up the phone. After a moment of mumbling, she hung up and stated, “No less than $1,100.” I nodded, said thank you, and went on my way.

A few days later I was back, perusing the store, and “Oh! Look, what a lovely couch—how much do you think the owner could go down?” The same sales lady smiled, picked up the phone, dialed, mumbled, hung up and delivered to me the same plate of disappointment.

Undeterred, I repeated this a few more times. Always the same sales lady, and always the same reply. Though, at one point, he did come down to a grand. By that point, the sales lady had lost her smile. Until finally, finally… I walked into the store one afternoon. And he was there. The owner—I recognized him from previous haggles.

Finally! Face to face! I knew this was a unique opportunity and my pulse quickened. But he was on the phone. So I sat on my soon-to-be new couch and stroked it as if petting a newborn puppy. Calmed by its luxurious tweediness, I sighed internally. When he hung up, no words were minced: “Are you the one that’s been coming in here asking about this couch?”

“Yup,” I smiled back at him. “How much do you think you can—“

“How much do you wanna pay for it?” he asked me.

“800.”

“You obviously love it. You have to take it with you now.”

So with a phone call to my boyfriend to come and help me carry it home, section by section, I was the proud owner a beautiful orange sectional. I think in a way, this couch was destined to be mine. It makes me beam and churn every time I walk into my living room. To me (and I realize only to me), this orange sectional from the sixties is the definition of perfection.

Folks really love their IKEA, Crate and Barrel, and—oh, I don’t even know new furniture stores. I never go in them. But seriously, why give your money to a big company and cause more resources to be used for materials, manufacturing, and delivery? Especially when there are amazing things like my orange couch in the world.

Support your local junk shop. Recycle furniture. And in the process you might find a new method of self-expression in personalizing your space to suit you and you alone.