They've roped me in...

It's happened. They've accomplished their sick, sad goal to dominate the brains, wallets, and lives of their customers and employees. They've ROPED ME IN. They may still be paying me (minimally), but now...NOW I'M PAYING THEM.

I bought a top from Podiatry. Granted, it was heavily discounted (60% instead of our normal 40%), but even with all those percents slashed from the original price the single top drained forty smackers from my humble checking account. It's a long white tunic shirt with elaborate embroidery on the neckline and cuffs of the three-quarter-length bell sleeves; despite the fact that the material is quite thin and see-through, it's of a pretty high quality (unlike much of what we sell for over a hundred bucks).

I'm not sure if I bought it because it is a beautiful top...it is...or if I did it because I felt I needed more options for work-clothes...I did need that, I believe...or if there is a more insidious reason: the need to belong. That in itself is not an insidious need, but giving in to a system in which you have to buy things in order to feel that you belong...that's not necessarily the best option.

Here's the shocker: it worked. I wore the magic top two days ago, and my coworkers practically SCREAMED with delight at the initial sight of my Podiatry-clothed body. “OHHHHHHHHHHH MYYYYY GOOODDDDDDD! That looks SOOOOOOOOOOOO good on you!” or “Well, look at you!!!!!” etc. I've gotten not so much as a nod to my attire before this. If anything, the magic top made people notice more than my attire; it made some people notice NELSON for the first time.

Unless I'm mistaken, before the advent of the top, JubJub and I were not on the best of terms. Out of all the managers at Podiatry, I'd argue that JubJub has received me in the least friendly of manners. Her behavior was not out and out hostile, but it was markedly less friendly, and, at moments, somewhat passive aggressive.

For example, during my performance debut as Nelson, I was “processing” clothing in the fitting room (unnecessarily formal jargon for putting things back on the hangers that the lazy-ass customers leave littered on the floor), and Mama Skaggs informed me that a particular jean was hung in a special, confusing fashion. She quickly demonstrated the awkward steps: grab it by the crotch area then make it straddle the right side of the hanger allowing the legs to drop to one side then twisting the legs around the left part so that they hang limp over the back. Unable NOT to anthropomorphize the jeans, I felt dirty watching her do it, listening to her explain it, and then attempting it myself. She departed as I tried and tried to make my jeans match the example on the hanger, grabbing the crotch over and over again. JubJub came in to grab some “go-backs” (a no-nonsense term referring to the “processed” items ready to return to their rightful place on the floor), and before she whisked them away, I asked her for some advice on this complicated method, much to her chagrin. Although the store atmosphere was not particularly hectic at that point, perhaps she had a specific objective in mind and did not want to be bothered. In any case, she looked at me, annoyed, as she hastily fled my presence, throwing out an emphatic, “You know, Nelson, it doesn't really matter right now. We can talk about this later.” Well, which is it Podiatry managers? Do you want me to care about the jean-hanging? Or does it not really matter?

Maybe she was just having a bad day, but whereas the other managers and I have shared at least some personal information and joked around a bit, it has consistently been all business with me'n'JubJub. UNTIL two days ago and, of course, the top. Suddenly we're talking, joking, she's asking me this and that about my life. With the top on, I'm worthy of her attention?

The top-buying experience was an interesting one, but I think it's back to soap and candles only for my Podiatry purchases seeing as the top constituted roughly a fourth of my last paycheck (though the upcoming monies should be much greater...I hope). Maybe I should put into action a new experiment in which I wear nothing BUT the top for the next month. JubJub would probably do a 180 going back to giving me the cold shoulder...maybe she'd take it even further and not even look at me. Course after a month of wearing nothing but the same white shirt, I probably wouldn't want to look at me either.