Today I was working at my second job. On Tuesdays, I work at a local quilt shop, general duties, helping people pick out fabric, cutting, ringing up, all the usual things one does in a small retail shop. I like the job for lots of reasons but one of the biggest is that the customers, other quilters, are almost invariably pleasant, creative, interesting people. Today was a little unusual because we have a sale this week. My boss isn’t big on sales as a business model because she says people will just wait till you have a sale to come into the shop and stay away otherwise. But, we have a LOT of inventory on the shelves and more coming and we need to make some room, so a sale for the next three days is in effect. It’s 20% off all fabric, but if you buy the end of a bolt, then it’s 25%. That’s to encourage people to just snap up those small amounts left on bolts to put in their stash.
Around mid-morning a lady came in and wandered around for a while and finally settled on a bolt of red that she wanted to pair up with a blue. I showed her where things were and she found a blue fabric she liked and pulled that out. Turns out, she was going for the ends of bolts on both, and there were about 4-5 yards of fabric left on each bolt, so a pretty good purchase, even with a discount.
As I was unfurling the fabric to measure exactly how much there was, we were chatting about it and what her plans were for it, etc. Being red and blue, of course, I was thinking something patriotic for Fourth of July and mentioned that.
“Yes,” she said, “I make a patriotic quilt every year and donate it to the Friends of the NRA so they can raffle it off to raise money.”
“Oh,” I said, pretty much at a loss for words.
“Yes,” she said again. “The one I donated last year ended up going for $750!”
I suddenly wanted to grab that fabric out of her hands and tell her to just get the hell out of the store because I was NOT going to sell her anything that could be used to benefit that crazy terrorist organization. It was really all I could do not to. My hands nearly cramped up with the effort.
But I didn’t. First of all, the woman was probably close to 80 years old and second, my boss, who owns the shop, also own guns, although I’m pretty sure she’s not a fan of the NRA, as I know lots of gun owners are not. So I just smiled and nodded and sold her the fabric and was very happy when she walked out of the store.
“Friends of the NRA.” Damn, who knew?