A similar incident happened only minutes before, at Ben Sherman, where I had begun my failed search for gray dress pants. They had some, two different pairs of gray pants, they were even on sale. I didn't like them though, and they didn't have my size. I would have to buy a pair that I didn't like, just didn't hate, and then go somewhere else to get them hemmed to the appropriate length. No thank you. But I was already in the sale section. And there was this cute sales girl desperately trying to help me, failing to understand that when it comes to shopping, I am beyond help, it needs to just be done for me. This was the second of the cute sales women to try and help me, I think my sarcasm and cynicism scared away the first. The second had a bit more drive though. That or she just realized that helping someone who does not want your help means you don't have to do a whole lot, just follow and agree with everything. She showed me.
I talked myself into looking at some jeans. I really wanted to make some cut-off jean shorts, but needed to first replace the pants that I would be destroying in the near future. Following me she told me that most of the jeans have that lame shine to them, that does not in fact wash out. It should, and she agreed. I found a pair without the lame shine, she got my size, I tried them on, and wow. Best fitting pants ever. Shit. I was ready to put them back when she stepped up and became a unique blend a cool cute girl, and great sales woman. "Fuck it dude, just buy 'em. They are so cheap." She was right, the jeans were normally like $130 or something retarded like that. Now they were $54, with an additional 3o% off. "Practically free," she continued. But I need a tie too, I tried to fight it. She got me the one gray sale tie they had and explained that I would get both the tie and pants for less than the original sale price of the pants. I was sold. I wasn't happy, but I was sold. And now I have some sweet new cut-offs and a new pair of the most comfortable jeans I've ever owned.
Back to the shirt. I wore it last night. I really think it's a great shirt. It's simple, but it's more than one the many solid colored tee-shirts that I have been sporting for the last year or so. Rotating between black and white. So there I am, at the bar, in my new shirt. With colors. I feel pretty good. "That's a pretty conservative look you're going for," says a friend of mine. Well fuck you very much. I am now instantly self conscious of my new shirt. Could it really be more boring than a plain white or black tee? I ask what he means, am I an honorary member of the NRA now? "I don't know, it's just, pretty traditional."
con⋅serv⋅a⋅tive
–adjective| 1. | cautiously moderate or purposefully low: a conservative estimate. |
| 2. | traditional in style or manner; avoiding novelty or showiness: conservative suit. |
Am I that boring? I thought, Hey, this shirt is nice. And it's not so plain! Wrong. It's just conservative. Purposefully low. Great.
I was thinking about what all this meant today, while reading some David Sedaris, and watching the Travel Channel. I was recently at a different bar with some other friends, it was I'd say half full, with some moderate music playing. I got a glass of Makers, and talked with my friends, I was pretty happy. I had to pee, and in that time the bar managed to become way over full, the music turned up to 11, and the air conditioning over powered by the dancing and sweating of all the girls there having a great time. I wanted to leave immediately. Really? I longed for some empty bar where dancing was not encouraged, and conversation was possible. Likely filled boring old people, instead of beautiful you girls dressed to look like they aren't dressed. It's a wonder why I have so much trouble with people my age, they like fun things.
During this thought process, I checked the time, it was just past six. I did some quick math and realized I should take a nap. Not that I wanted to, but that if I wanted to be ok for my night shift tonight, I needed it. This is normal for me. Maybe I should join the NRA
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