Goodwill
I guess the simplest and most honest thing to say about Goodwill is that it is what it is, which depends on what's currently in the heap, where the store is, and whether they have a sale on. In the latter case - and this seems to apply to most large thrift stores - either everyone got the good stuff before I arrived, or the good stuff was whipped off the racks until after the sale. In any event, every day at a thrift store is a new opportunity, both to reconsider that bookcase you saw yesterday, which could maybe be repaired with the judicious application of some duct tape, or to discover the new old stuff that the staff has hidden away in the daily recycled egg hunt.
In England it would be called a charity shop, leaving you to feel public-spirited about shopping there even if you were filthy rich. Noblesse Oblige, and all that. Here it's called a thrift store, which implies that you're probably broke if you're shopping here, or at least, too thrifty to be found in Big Lots. Whether this explains why many of the customers at the local Goodwill (including me) look like escapees from Walmart, I couldn't say, but for sure an afternoon here isn't going to have them leaving any better dressed than they were when they came in.
As with other similar stores, a multicolored coding system is in play with different colors of tickets discounted on different days. I'd swear that the staff sneak around changing the colors of the tickets the day before, because I can never find one of the half-price ones, but to be honest I've yet to catch them at it.
Having said all that, I've had tremendous luck from time to time and if you have the antique dealer's determination to do the route from store to store every day, eventually you will, too. You might have a long wait to grab the Gucci handbag, but if you're after a checkered polyester suit, it could happen today.
Oh, the photo. Google offered it up for the Goodwill keyword. No, I have no idea either. And no, I don't want to know.