Saturday September 16, 2006
	The dressing room.
	I'm at the Dillard's department store and I'm looking through rack after rack of clothes that have been marked down seventy five percent.  Almost always I like the stuff nobody else wants and a sale such as this one is good for me 'cause then I don't have to sort through shitloads of normal looking stuff (that some other stone head would happily wear). "Can I help you sir?" says a woman.  When she asks she pretends to be sorting through hangers on a different clothes rack and when she's done sorting she moves closer and smiles. "Just looking," I say then smiling.  I always assume there's half a dozen ceiling mounted cameras aimed at me so I always smile.  Inwardly I'm not one hundred percent and I know it, outwardly I look good and I figure a smile never hurts to diffuse any sort of snap judgment with regards to my character. "Let me know if you need any help," she says then smiling, again.   I'm hearing those ding, ding, ding sounds that come out of department store speakers used to page various managers and it reminds me of my aunt Marge who really wasn't my aunt Marge and how she'd take me shopping on my birthday. "Happy birthday, Norman." "Thank you aunt Marge." "I'd like to buy you a birthday present, Norman." "Thank you aunt Marge." "You can have anything between here and here but not up there or over there or in that bottom area." "Thank you aunt Marge." "You can have anything in those areas so long as it doesn't exceed one dollar." "Thank you aunt Marge.  Thank you." "The dressing room is just over there," she says then pointing.   The sales girl sees me holding two pairs of pants and when she's done pointing I head to the dressing room.  I'm tired and when I'm inside the room I sit on the bench for a long time before doing anything and I can see myself in the full length wall mounted mirror and while I'm seeing myself I say: "Remember that time when you were a little boy and mom dumped you at the department store and drove away 'cause we didn't have any money and she thought you'd be better off?  Maybe it wasn't the money thing at all maybe she thought she'd be better off." The pants fit well but they're made out of linen and I know that means that maybe they'll be wearable two times and because I'm kinda tired I sit again.  I look at my reflection in the mirror and while I'm looking I say aloud: "They're made out of linen." To the right of me are hundreds of stick pins that have been pushed into the wall. It feels like artwork and before I leave the dressing room I rearrange some of the pins so that when seen by another shopper (trying on clothes) they'll see: PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT