Whine, Whine, Whine
13 March 1999
You know, I can take having my self-image deflated now and then as well as the next guy. Sometimes, though, I wish the world would just use the traditional needle, and stop with the semiautomatic weapons fire already.
I'm in The Beauty Shop to get hair dye, right? So, there's a line, and all these attendants or whatever you would call them walking around the floor to see if anyone needs any assistance, and this is all in a store that's got one 12' aisle and two 3' ones. Crowded. Ill tempers. We're doing the one-line/two-register thing, and it works fine until it's my turn. Then of course the aggro Migden-wannabe chicks jump the line. My experience with the type suggests that words like "Excuse me" are invitations to political & personal diatribes, so whatever.
They finally leave, I start to move toward the register, and the woman who was working it turns and walks away. Apparently it's very urgent that she finish doing inventory of depilatory creams right now. Am I invisible? OK, maybe the opposite - she was the cute one, and if I noticed that, I might have been doing that looking thing again. Whatever.
Meanwhile the 2.3 Mom in front of me at the other register is worrying about how effective this moisturizer they've recommended will be, and might she be allergic to it, yammer. A year or so passes, the seasons wheel, eventually she concludes her transaction. Then, a little while after that, she even stops talking and leaves. I step up to the counter.
"Hi, will that be it for you?"
"No, I'd like the Fudge Blue Velvet hair dye, please." (It's behind the counter. Desperate junkie goths I guess.)
"Oh. Hey, you two - c'mere!"
She calls the two store girls near her - including the fanatical inventoress and former checkout clerk - over to the counter and starts this murmuring conversation, with gestures towards me and towards the dye. Pauses to look up at me.
"Now I suppose you're sure about this, you want the White or the Blue Velvet?" (I think she said 'white' but it makes no sense.)
"The Blue Velvet."
Gets it off the shelf, more low tones. Damn for a spy mike.
"OK, you two, back to work! So - do you have gloves and everything?" I nod my head 'yes'. "Have you used this bleach before?" Nod. "You've got developer and all that?" Nod. "Oooo-kay..."
With the most exquisite condescension, as the Reverend might have said, she rang me up. And so, fine, my discount card that gets punched with each purchase had been in my wallet for a while, OK? It was a little wrinkled. But was it really necessary to pick it up by the corner? Then throw it away and make out a new one?
As she hands me my bag of stuff, she give me a nice big fake smile and says something about having to excuse them, it's inventory day and, wow, it's crazy around here ha ha! I didn't pay too much close attention because I was distracted by the giant neon "LIAR!" sign over her head.
I know I must not look much like your average urban hipster, especially wearing a baggy cardigan sweater and a white t-shirt with a picture of a rabbit with a soup can for a torso on it. But I never would have thought I was exactly Grampa Joe, movin' kinda slow, either. Sheesh. At least they didn't ask me how young my daughter was, and did she give me a list of anything else to buy.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff.
The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.