her aquarium, sounding wide and hollow.
What was that about?
She climbed out of the window and trotted toward the snapped hanger, the soft puddle of fabric. She gathered the dress in her arm like a wounded animal. A bit of tulle from inside the skirt grazed her cheek. I Don’t Know, I stammered. Why did I feel like I was going to get in trouble? Had I done something wrong? I felt sweaty. Bernice’s eyebrows were crashed together, creating a crunch right in that space people Botox. I Think They Were Stealing. I Mean, I Thought They Were Going To. They Were Acting Sort Of Weird…Bernice nodded, her eyes wide. Bernice had given me a lengthy talk about stealing.She’d said,
A lot of people want what we have, Trishy. Look around.
She’d nodded her head, deeply serious. She’d motioned to the racks.
But you’ve got to work for what we’ve got, right? I mean, even we do. You’ve got to earn it.
Ohmigod! had a zero-tolerance-for-shoplifters policy. If I caught anyone stealing I was to stop them from leaving the store and holler for Bernice, who would go and grab Chuck, the rent-a-cop assigned to our quadrant of Square One. Then I guess they got hauled away to a room underneath the mall. It sounded really creepy. I had felt pretty uncomfortable at the idea of confronting someone shoplifting, but after my run-in with the twelve-year-olds I wondered if I was going to have a hard time
not
starting fights with the customers.
Bernice looked stressed, her eyes zooming around the store and landing on the astrology rack, the Scorpio shirt getting dirty on the linoleum. I Asked Them What They Were Doing, I told her, And They Freaked Out And Started Throwing Clothes Around.
Bernice gasped.
Oh, Trishy
, she said.
Oh if that happens again, you holler for me. Good job, good job!
She lifted the cracked hanger from the rack and dropped it onto the fluff of the dress.
I’ll take care of the dress
, she told me.
You reorganize those astrology shirts, okay? I knew those were going to get a lot of attention. Right? Didn’t I? After that you can take your fifteen minutes.
And Bernice shuffled to the rear of the store and the music track jumped to a Pat Benatar song and a new gang of girls bounded into Ohmigod!, jacked up on hysterical girlness, their lips melting on their faces like Popsicles.
Twelve
The weird CD-thing that Ohmigod! plays in an endless rotation was playing Sheena Easton. “Strut” was on and I was getting ready to take the fifteen-minute break Bernice had promised me. My head felt empty and deranged from having no food and the high-intensity fluorescent lights running in strips above my head. I think on some deep and sickening level I can perceive their endless flicker, their strobe, and it makes me feel a little nuts. Bernice was in the bathroom and when she was done I could split, grab a candy bar, and head outside for a little normal light. So “Strut” was playing and this girl, she sort of actually strutted into Ohmigod! like she was pretending to be a model. Very dramatic. And I started getting very judgmental about her in my head and looking for the rest of her irritatingpack of girls. Then I realized that she was actually alone. She was holding a big army bag and wearing a bizarre outfit of bright stripes. The top was striped with orange and green and yellow and the bottom was a stained khaki and the whole thing was too big for her. Her hair was dark but it was all smashed under a hairnet like an old lady. She looked greasy. I noticed this as she strutted toward the register at the back, where I’d stopped moving and started just staring. Her makeup, mostly eyeliner, had pooled around her eyes like liquid, and her face had a sheen to it. She dipped around the jewelry rack then came straight up to me and dropped her bag on the counter. The bag had things scratched into it but I was too high from low blood sugar and confusion to check it out. She spoke real low, in a voice that sounded so deep and scuffed-up it
What was that about?
She climbed out of the window and trotted toward the snapped hanger, the soft puddle of fabric. She gathered the dress in her arm like a wounded animal. A bit of tulle from inside the skirt grazed her cheek. I Don’t Know, I stammered. Why did I feel like I was going to get in trouble? Had I done something wrong? I felt sweaty. Bernice’s eyebrows were crashed together, creating a crunch right in that space people Botox. I Think They Were Stealing. I Mean, I Thought They Were Going To. They Were Acting Sort Of Weird…Bernice nodded, her eyes wide. Bernice had given me a lengthy talk about stealing.She’d said,
A lot of people want what we have, Trishy. Look around.
She’d nodded her head, deeply serious. She’d motioned to the racks.
But you’ve got to work for what we’ve got, right? I mean, even we do. You’ve got to earn it.
Ohmigod! had a zero-tolerance-for-shoplifters policy. If I caught anyone stealing I was to stop them from leaving the store and holler for Bernice, who would go and grab Chuck, the rent-a-cop assigned to our quadrant of Square One. Then I guess they got hauled away to a room underneath the mall. It sounded really creepy. I had felt pretty uncomfortable at the idea of confronting someone shoplifting, but after my run-in with the twelve-year-olds I wondered if I was going to have a hard time
not
starting fights with the customers.
Bernice looked stressed, her eyes zooming around the store and landing on the astrology rack, the Scorpio shirt getting dirty on the linoleum. I Asked Them What They Were Doing, I told her, And They Freaked Out And Started Throwing Clothes Around.
Bernice gasped.
Oh, Trishy
, she said.
Oh if that happens again, you holler for me. Good job, good job!
She lifted the cracked hanger from the rack and dropped it onto the fluff of the dress.
I’ll take care of the dress
, she told me.
You reorganize those astrology shirts, okay? I knew those were going to get a lot of attention. Right? Didn’t I? After that you can take your fifteen minutes.
And Bernice shuffled to the rear of the store and the music track jumped to a Pat Benatar song and a new gang of girls bounded into Ohmigod!, jacked up on hysterical girlness, their lips melting on their faces like Popsicles.
Twelve
The weird CD-thing that Ohmigod! plays in an endless rotation was playing Sheena Easton. “Strut” was on and I was getting ready to take the fifteen-minute break Bernice had promised me. My head felt empty and deranged from having no food and the high-intensity fluorescent lights running in strips above my head. I think on some deep and sickening level I can perceive their endless flicker, their strobe, and it makes me feel a little nuts. Bernice was in the bathroom and when she was done I could split, grab a candy bar, and head outside for a little normal light. So “Strut” was playing and this girl, she sort of actually strutted into Ohmigod! like she was pretending to be a model. Very dramatic. And I started getting very judgmental about her in my head and looking for the rest of her irritatingpack of girls. Then I realized that she was actually alone. She was holding a big army bag and wearing a bizarre outfit of bright stripes. The top was striped with orange and green and yellow and the bottom was a stained khaki and the whole thing was too big for her. Her hair was dark but it was all smashed under a hairnet like an old lady. She looked greasy. I noticed this as she strutted toward the register at the back, where I’d stopped moving and started just staring. Her makeup, mostly eyeliner, had pooled around her eyes like liquid, and her face had a sheen to it. She dipped around the jewelry rack then came straight up to me and dropped her bag on the counter. The bag had things scratched into it but I was too high from low blood sugar and confusion to check it out. She spoke real low, in a voice that sounded so deep and scuffed-up it
Similar Books
