[stylist] Hoody bit

[Brad Dunse]

for a little self-amusement this morning :)

The store manager was new so I suppose you really 
couldn't blame him. I don't think he had much 
experience in this sort of thing before, but 
after an incident such as this, I'm sure he's 
learned a thing or two. A few of us tried to tell 
him early on but it was as if he didn't even hear 
us, or as if he couldn't understand us at all. It 
was almost like he didn't speak our language. 
Well, anyway
 we didn't push too hard because we 
had heard he was a bit hot under the collar, 
though you really would not have thought that by 
just looking at him. I mean his white pressed 
short sleeved shirt and bright tan slacks were
 
hmmm alright. I mean the slacks weren't that dark 
so they were OK. I mean he couldn't wear white 
slacks too or he'd look like a doctor or 
something, you know, too clean and proper. No, 
the light tan slacks were OK, too dark and well, 
you know, *spoken in a whisper* the darky slacks
 
no matter how you try to contrast them
 because 
of their color they just send the wrong message you know.

I on the other hand, with my official  medium sky 
blue long sleeves, neatly pressed chest pockets, 
stiff unwrinkled collar standing proud atop the 
wide shoulders, sharply contrasted dark blue 
slacks  creased commanding municipal respect 
being tied off at the waist by a shiny black 
leather belt, knew this sort of thing happens 
from time to time. I might have expected it too 
from the murmuring I thought I heard earlier on in the evening.

I'd say it happened somewhere around 11:00PM, 
shortly after closing time and all the store 
personnel had gone home for the night. The place 
was dark and only the security lights lit certain 
areas of the store. The dress shirt section was 
well lit and out in the open, as was the tank 
tops and plane sweat shirts. Even the wild 
carefree T-shirts with their brazen multi-colored 
logos slapped on them like cheap chest tattoos 
were out in the open. There were others though 
that were hidden in the shadows of the security 
lights. If anyone should have been hidden from 
the light it should really have been the 
negligees and unmentionables but no, it wasn't 
that way, not like other stores with
 well you 
see, this is where the store manager
 well I'm 
sure he knows now, but it always has to come to 
something like this before anything is done about it.

As I said I think it had to be a little after 
11:00PM, shortly after closing time, maybe 
11:30PM I'm not really sure. I was standing there 
quiet-like, the store was all still. And out of 
the buzzing noise of the scantly illuminating 
fluorescents, I thought I heard this whispering. 
At first I wasn't sure but then it seemed to get 
louder. Sure enough I began to hear these voices 
and right away I knew what was happening.  Their 
accent and dialect gave them away even in the 
darkness. As the murmuring grew louder I began to pick out what was being said.

"Look at you mon weeth your foncy stripes and 
pressed coalars... get a load ofe deece guy 
mon... oh... tsk tsk tsk. Aw. Jew popped a coople 
boatens. Aw Chus like deece one here, dos a shame mon".

I knew right then we had trouble and it wasn't 
going to be pretty. But what was I to do. The 
manager had me clipped up on the display wall 
with arms stretched out like I was being 
crucified. I'm telling you, I mean I'm not 
saying? I'm just saying.  You know, I think the 
manager had a lot of missed responsibility here. 
New or not, well anyway, I could hear things were 
heating up from another section ...

"Hey man look at this feller.  he's a thinkin' 
he's purdy smart wit dat Rayon tag he's a sportin' there. Well I'll just..."

And then I heard this horrible tearing sound. I 
mean he made off like he was going to rip off 
just the tag but it sounded like he tore the 
whole arm off the guy. All this was happening 
just around the corner where I couldn't quite get 
a good look at who  the trouble makers were, but 
I knew. Oh, I knew alright. It was easy for the 
cops to tell too when they finally came in the next morning.

But anyway pinned helpless there I heard another 
scream, I looked and finally I could see 
something of what was going on just outside of 
the shadows. It was coming from the negligee section.

"Get your hands off me you, you... you...  piece of white... help! Help!"

I looked over and it confirmed my suspicion. The 
upper part of his garment was the tell tale thing 
but with Lederhosen? I mean that's an odd 
combination but these trouble makers, they'll 
wear anything for an identity that draws attention  to them.

All of a sudden the voices got louder. The 
trouble makers with there accents and dialects 
were pushing shoving and ripping everyone off 
their hangers. You could hear shirts drop to the 
floor, some in just a protective fetal position, 
and others because they were yanked off the rack, 
thrown down and stomped. Screams and torrents of 
obscenities rang out along with fabric names. 
Cotton, Rayon, Wool, Polyester Blend, you name it 
and it was yelled out just before they were 
beaten or tore to shreds.  If attacking them for 
their textile ethnicity wasn't good enough, the 
troublemakers began spewing out styles. V-necks, 
tank tops, button down, short sleeve, long 
sleeve, no sleeve, it didn't matter they were out 
to make their mark in the clothing section of the 
store. cries for help  rang out one after another 
and like I say, there I was pinned against the 
wall in "nail me to the cross" mode, unable to do anything.

Well, by the time the store manager got there in 
the morning every stitch of clothing was tossed 
on the floor. Buttons lay randomly in the isles 
along with ripped off collars, pockets and 
sleeves. Hangers littered the main isle next to 
crumpled broken plastic displays and metal 
tubular hanging racks tipped over. I was lucky 
enough to have landed face down with the top of 
my display wall propped  up against  the feet of 
the denim shirt's round rack  that was in front 
of me before all this started, so I wasn't 
crushed. Yes, every stitch of clothing was either 
tore, had its buttons popped, its buckles 
wrenched off, or otherwise destroyed. When the 
humans walked in only one set of garments was 
left sitting untouched and only slightly 
misarranged according to size as if they 
scampered to return to the rack before someone saw.

That's when they knew who caused all this 
trouble.  Those troublemakers the hoodys. Its 
always the hoodys, you can't trust a one of them 
I tel ya. And it doesn't matter if they have draw 
straps, are pull overs or zip, have tattoos on 
their chest like the T-shirts or not. No matter 
what color, solid or multi-colored, they all were 
there hanging presuming innocence while the rest 
of us lay in a shambles on the store manager's pretty little floor.