6 of the Strangest Donations I Saw While Working at Value Village in Toronto

Unopened cans of spam

One of the strangest donations we received when I worked at Value Village was a box filled with unopened cans of Spam.

Not only does Value Village not accept canned food on principle, but this donation was particularly odd because the cans were vintage, still sealed from the late 90s. I wondered what the donor’s story was: were they preparing for a Y2K-like event that never happened, or were they just that lazy?

Despite my attempts to convince my colleague with the promise of a $50 bill, no one ever tasted the contents of those cans, so I guess we’ll never know if they survived or not. Oh well, a boy can dream.

A used diary

You’d be amazed at the personal treasures people unknowingly (or knowingly?) give away. One day, among the usual mix of t-shirts and mismatched socks, I stumbled upon a journal. This wasn’t just any journal, it was the story of a man on a mission to conquer his world, one calf raise at a time.

I should preface this by saying that I’m embarrassed to admit that I read someone else’s diary, but the entries were like a cross between a fitness log and an existential crisis; I just couldn’t help myself. Our hero, let’s call him “Gym Guy Greg,” described his relentless pursuit of chiseled calves with the seriousness of a general. There were lots of chapters of self-reflection on why his calves weren’t quite the size of small mountains yet. Lots.

But in between these intense reflections on the size of calves, Greg also mused on life, love, and the right ratio of protein to carbs for maximum gains—especially the latter. It was like reading a Greek epic, only with more protein shakes and less bloodshed.

When I came across Greg’s calf-centric chronicles, I remembered that everyone has their own completely unique struggles and dreams. So, Greg: wherever you are, may your calves finally reach their divine potential.

A VHS tape with home movies

In an age of streaming dominance, finding a VHS tape at Value Village felt like discovering an ancient artifact. So when a few of my coworkers, after seeing the film, The ringand I stumbled upon an unmarked tape, our curiosity was quite piqued. Armed with a VCR that looked like it had been retired for decades, we decided to see what kind of cinematic masterpiece we had discovered.

We pressed play and after a few seconds of static we were treated to the riveting story of a man trying to figure out how to operate a camcorder. The entire tape was essentially a blooper reel of epic dad moments. There he was, fumbling with buttons, accidentally zooming in on his own bewildered face, capturing endless shots of the ceiling, his feet, and his family’s bewildered expressions.

Every now and then we’d catch glimpses of what should have been a family vacation — sightseeing in Toronto, a sunny day at the beach — but mostly it was just Dad’s unintentional documentary on the dangers of analog technology. His running commentary ranged from, “Is this thing turned on?” to “Why is it so blurry?” making the whole experience feel like a low-budget sitcom.

A collection of clown figurines

I remember once we received a giant box containing a collection of clown figurines.

The figurines ranged in size and style, from jolly jesters to more disturbing, sinister clowns. It was clear that the donor had a passion for collecting these things, and perhaps they were downsizing or simply giving up this unique hobby.

Of course, the statues became a topic of conversation among the staff. I may have secretly spread a rumor that they were haunted, but I’m not sure. I was drinking a lot of iced caps at the time.

The clowns were there the whole time I worked there, watching me. I still wonder if anyone ever bought them. I hope not.

Old medical equipment

One of the strangest donations we ever received at my Value Village location was a box full of old medical equipment that looked like it came straight from the lab of a mad scientist.

We’re talking a stethoscope, a vintage blood pressure monitor, and even a bone saw that had clearly seen better days, probably around the time that leeches were a top-tier medical treatment. These items seemed more suited to a horror movie set or a “Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe” than a Toronto thrift store.

Of course, my colleagues and I couldn’t help but develop theories during smoke breaks. Maybe they came from a retired doctor who finally traded house calls for golf swings in Florida. Or maybe a medical student decided a career in medicine wasn’t worth the risk of being haunted by the ghosts of medical devices past. For a moment, we even wondered if someone was planning an unconventional theme for the house decor, because nothing says “welcome home” like a bone saw in your living room.

The best part? Imagine the look on the faces of the customers when they walked in expecting to find a vintage toaster, but were instead greeted by the kind of gear that would make Dr. Frankenstein proud.

A wedding dress with a twist

Wedding dresses often ended up in our donation bins, but one dress came with a note that my colleagues and I were very disappointed about.

The dress wasn’t exactly high-end, more of a “borrowed” feel than designer couture. But, I won’t lie, it came with a handwritten note that read, “Worn once, didn’t work. May it bring better luck to someone else.” Ouch.

Donation? More like a whole story in a garment bag. We couldn’t help but imagine the scenario: the hopeful walk down the aisle, the awkward buffet at the reception and then, well, something a little less cheerful.