Thigh-high socks and Carrot Top’s brother
“Hey, I like your backpack, it’s trippy,” Carrot Top’s better-looking mohawked brother said from behind the counter at American Apparel.
“Thanks,” I said, inching away, because I hate small talk and I’m terrible at it.
I wandered around the store and went down to the basement where a crop-topped girl greeted me. “Looking for anything in particular today?”
I glanced at her bare midriff and said, “That. A stomach like yours. Sell me that.”
Except I didn’t say it out loud. I kept walking until I reached the far wall where I found something I had really been searching for.
Don’t ask why, I don’t know either. But ever since I got here, I’ve been checking every store for thigh-high socks.
I grabbed a black pair and headed back to the cash register, back to Mohawk.
“Hey dude, all good in the hood?” he said.
“Yup,” I said, dumping my backpack onto the counter so I could dig for my wallet.
“Any of the fine ladies here assist you today, like Danielle?” He motioned to a scantily clad girl beside him.
“Yeah…” I struggled to remember Crop Top’s name. “Madeline?”
“Maaadeline,” he repeated, scanning my purchase and waving my socks in the air. “These bad boys are final sale.”
“Okay,” I said.
“That will be eighteen big ones.”
I handed him a twenty.
“Tweeenty big ones,” he said, like he was on a game show and that was the prize.
He gave me my change and my socks and said, “Here are your thigh-highs, have a great day!”
He was so perky, so happy that it was off-putting.
On my way out of the store, I spotted another rack of hosiery. Over-the-knee socks! Yes! I grabbed a black pair and walked back to Mohawk.
This time, he was totally different. If it weren’t for the mohawk, I could have sworn he was somebody else.
“Thirteen dollars please,” he said, getting my money, giving me my change and handing me my purchase like any other cashier in any other city.
In just three minutes, he had become completely normal.
And I was completely disappointed.