May 13, 2009

getting luckies



I am obsessed with these little collectible zipper pulls called Luckies. They are all so adorable. I was gifted one from my boss, one from a coworker and I bought one today only to discover that it was in fact the one I wanted (out of 29, they are randomly assorted so you don't know which one is in the box). His name is Mr. TTT. I don't know why. I like to think he is Mickey Mouse. Trisomy 21 Mickey Mouse...
And other weapon-related charms and breakfast keychains. Dehhh


I don't read the news or watch television. My knowledge of the world around me comes soley through personal interaction with others. And sometimes subway advisories.
That established, I don't know much about who is who and why they are important, etc.
Some well-known rapper came into my job today with his posse of 6 or 7 deep. They all reeked strongly of weed and a faint odor of sweat. Or rather, it got more humid in the room when they arrived.
I should have known. This is what happens when "celebrities" enter a space. Their mere presence makes a room get all like Nam or something. Anyway, these large and in charge patrons proceeded to get all cozy in the store taking one of almost everything to purchase without a thought. This is what rich people do sometimes. They purchase large amounts of unnecessary goods often with the purpose of "lookin good" or "keepin it flossy" (I don't know what it means either but I heard one of them say that).

The one female with them tottered around on impossibly tall rhombus-looking heels, Louis handbag dangling off her elbow. She made her way to the "staff only" door and opened it to peek inside, or shout something to one of her dudes or whatever.
A coworker and I exchanged wide-eyed looks, to the effect of something like "oh helllll nah, bitch...."

I discreetly scurried over to stop her from tresspassing further. She whipped around as I arrived and looked at me surprised that I was behind her.

"Uh uhm... do you... need something?" I managed to stammer. What I really wanted to say was, "hey maybe you wanna not go in there, being that you don't work here or anything?"

She blinked at me lazily, fluffed her weave, and assured me, "It's okay, we're celebrities. We can do that."

I could do nothing but stare at her dumbly, stunned by this display of sheer hilarious ignorance and sense of delusional entitlement. She could tell I was unconvinced.

"We got that clout, you know. We can do that. We know the bosses and owners of the company," she continued, sounding more and more insecure, when I couldn't say anything-- being speechless and all.

I looked at my coworker again. Same.



What I wanted to say/do:
  • a) Laugh. Loudly.
  • b) Smack her.
  • c) Quit.

What I did in real life:
  • Stretch my mouth into a smile-shaped form.
  • Adjust my glasses.
  • Say, "Oh so you know [my boss]? Um okay. So just... like... yeah..." trailing off.
I realized since the parameters of my position restrained me to being unfailingly polite, and the fact that my boss would probably be very unhappy if I told her what's what, I went with the 'don't say anything if you haven't got anything nice to say' policy.
And therefore couldn't form or finish a sentence.

She tottered away, looking just a hair embarrassed to get whats his name moneybags to buy her a 50 dollar t-shirt. I was stilled stunned. And alienated, and slightly disgusted, and I had to pee, and I think my hair got flatter from the sheer ridiculousness of that exchange.

It occurred to me that sad circumstance of being a rapper's current hoe. Like some sorta flash in a pan situation. You are this week's concubine, so take what you can get. I'm sure rappers would get geishas to be in their posse but I don't think even a whole lotta money would get a geisha to do that. I mean, she's got geisha prospects and dignity and stuff. Hoes is just hoes after hoes.
I wondered if she began to realize the fleeting and provisional nature of her current status, as she was trying to notify me of her celebrity status. She did not go so far as to say "Don't you know who I am?" but she did Royal-we me.

It's a difficult bluff to call, because if you have to ask, then No-- I clearly don't know who you are.
And I suppose that would be even worse.







3 comments:

(oh)joneses said...

I'm not quite sure as to why, but this is my favorite of the tales you've told.

grace said...

Er, we think we read somewhere that she would be called 'the jumpoff'- are we using that term correctly?!

Props for not slappin a bitch.

Buz said...

So... she was "one of those rap-guys' girlfriends?" Hasn't she done her homework? Doesn't she know that they believe "bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks?"