Stealth Attack Of The Disapproving Mormons
Jan. 8th, 2009 11:12 pmOkay, so the Joann’s I generally frequent is losing it. Sure, Halloween, then Christmas, then sales, but ye gods—lines that long for cutting fabric should not show up on a random Thursday.
Anyway, there I was at Joann’s, meandering around picking up bits for various projects, hauling my coat and some bolts and a basket of nifty stuff, chatting to myself or whoever was in hearing range, and I began to notice that people seemed … chilly toward me.
And I’m not just talking about the entitlement bitch up front yelling at the poor girl about how the fact that they’re perpetually understaffed isn’t the customer’s fault, now, is it.* It was all the old grandmas in the store, and some of the younger crowd, too. They kept looking at me.
I wasn’t sure if I was just imagining it, so I shrugged, got in line, and waited for my turn to get all my fabric cut whilst chatting away to the lady behind me. She didn’t respond, so I shrugged and turned and saw a girl with the most awesome dye job I’d ever seen.
“Wow! I love your hair! Who did it?”
“I did it myself,” she said, pleased.
“Wow!”
It was all dappled ginger, green, brown, and blonde, like a forest floor, short but not like my …
My …
Oh.
Yes. I was standing in a sewing and craft store in Salt Lake city with a buzzcut, that chainmail handflower bracelet from my last entry, a slave earring, and a visible tattoo on my arm. No wonder I was getting That Look. The only way I could have made that worse is if I had a cup of Starbucks in my be-chained hand.
Yes, it’s not like Eugene. Why do I live here, again?
*I did not understand the logic here. No, it is neither the customer’s fault nor the staff’s fault, and the fact that it’s not the customer’s fault doesn’t magically make more staff who can take care of it faster.