I went shopping at a 'cool' urban clothing store yesterday. The kind with disco lights overhead, and industrial warehouse walls, that plays rap music turned up loud in a constant yelling clatter. I wandered in and out of the edgy displays, feeling my features stiffening into an attempt to look bored and unapproachable, which is the effect that music has on me. I hate it; it feels like someone is yelling at me, and they're so angry they can't even draw breath and give me a turn to speak, they're just spewing out the anger in a long running monologue.
I couldn't find what I wanted, and I couldn't figure out which of the contemptuous spiky-haired girls around me were employees, and which were just fellow shoppers. I also couldn't think how to phrase my question in a way that wouldn't elicit a snort of mockery, even though what I was looking for was perfectly normal. The conviction came into my head that if I spoke, I would stutter, and that no matter how I asked, the reply would be just a long icy glare. Finally I slunk out. Some people just never grow into that scene, I guess. At least I have grown far enough beyond it that it no longer seems so important to fit in there.
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