[stylist] Hoody bit
Brad Dunse
lists at braddunsemusic.com
Wed Jan 5 23:51:30 UTC 2011
Thanks Donna and all. A day of spreadsheet
configurations yuck. Maybe I'll do a free-for-all
object write later to purge that built up energy :).
Brad
Brad
On 1/5/2011 12:12 PM Donna Hill said...
>Brad, Good job. You are a very creative man.
>Donna
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>On 1/5/2011 9:14 AM, Brad Dunse wrote:
>>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.
>>
>>
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Brad Dunse
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