holding a bra and t-shirt in my hands, i stood in front of the empty registers at the gap. a cashier rang up a lone woman armed with eighty coupons and a small truckload of clothing. another employee shambled aimlessly back and forth. he finally shifted his baleful gaze at me and asked, voice dripping with irritation, do you have a question miss?
my eyes narrowed, trying to decipher what was not obvious about the situation. no, no question, but i'd like to pay for these items.
he turned and walked away. stopped in front of a register at the very end of the counter. it seemed i was meant to follow him. at this point i had seriously considered depositing the items on the nearest surface and leaving. the floor would do fine. but january jaundice kept me there. do you know about january jaundice? i believe it's specific to cold climates. that post warm december feeling: winter quickly gets old after songs like baby it's cold outside get packed away. and the bleak, chilly future holds only hallmark made holidays and three more months of gray. in mid january, every new yorker wants to kill...but they're too exhausted to do much about it.
so i followed him. handed my sale items over. he took them wordlessly. i wondered aloud, with definite tonage: did i look particularly confused?
he considered his opponent. no, it's me who's confused today. we chuckled derisively.
translation: any specific reason you're a dick? answer: yes, because you're a dick too. WE ARE ALL DICKS IN JANUARY.
game on. i'll need to see your card (i'm going to make you work for this and wring out every ounce of power i have here, you look like an identity thief). i hold up my platinum card avec picture without handing it over, next to my face: it's to avoid confusion (you are not touching my card, peasant). we smirk at each other. WE HATE EACH OTHER IMMENSELY AND WE ARE ENJOYING THE HELL OUT OF IT. he hands over the bag. two pairs of eyes roll in lieu of a goodbye.
as i turn away, i am greeted with a rack of gray & neon blazers. the gap totally stole my version of by hand london's victoria blazer! was my new frenemy in on this? i pause to snap my 100th instagram, feeling my companion's jolly attempt to bore a hole through the back of my skull with his gaze, and saunter slowly out of the store into a january drizzle, my heels clacking out a thanks, playmate. that was FUN.