I found myself in an op shop most days when I was young. I stopped by to help a friend close up, the bell ringing as I opened the door, flipped the sign and started on a familiar path. I would eye the spines of the books, gaze at the dark folds of menswear and squat over milk crates of vinyl. I didn’t always know what I needed from that shop. It was a ritual, and I was searching.

I was a student, working as a janitor, living in a crowded house. The op shop ritual helped with things I couldn’t otherwise afford: clothes for an interview, a toolkit, the bag I took to class. The things I found were useful and needed as I made my way into adult life.

“Did we ruin op shops?” My old friend practically shouts over the phone. They no longer work in an op shop, but the complaint felt familiar. I can’t find anything good any more. It’s all too expensive. These stores seem so empty. Where’s the weird stuff?

Many secondhand retailers have been professionalised in recent years, the op shops of old seeming to have faded away. I find myself, a 42-year-old man, standing in these places wondering, is there anything useful........

© The Guardian