Story 15

I am about a year in to the game of working there. I say game, because the reality I live in here is so beyond reality. It’s some place between reality, and a John Waters movie. It’s like I’m constantly working to save the queen, like I did in “Super Mario Brothers.” I am the queen and Mario all at the same time though. I feel like I’m constantly working to get to that 15 pounds lighter point. Now, I am another belt loop in, the long curls are now short, preened and neat. My shirts have jumped one size smaller. By smaller I mean that I have lost weight and not that I am now, like every other gay man, trying to fit more than belongs in a smaller shirt. I now wear completely sleeveless cut-offs shirts at work, which is a HUGE leap for me. This is big step, coming from the boy who went through his teen years avoiding pools and any event involving the expectation to be shirtless. I would spend the pool parties with the girls that would lie about being on their “time of the month” just not to swim and end up hanging out near the chips. Essentially, this was where I would meet the future fag hags of America, one pool party at a time. Inside, I will always be that guy who would avoid these events with over-sized shirts to cover up my boy bitch-tits. I would avoid these events at all costs, kinda the way people avoid a bum on the subway with scabies. I would work hard at not hiking, going to water parks, being in hot summer days, physical activity, anything that could lead to that because I didn’t want everyone to see me shirtless and discuss my boy-teets. Even though, I am no longer that guy, and probably thin enough to wear a sleeveless shirt, I still in the back of my head think I’ll have side-titty getting in the way, as was the case in my youth.
So, I go to Union Square with my cousin Nicole. It’s in the same fashion that we have shopped and hung out since we were little eleventeen-year olds by the food court. Then, most of our purpose was to find Nicole cigarettes, stuff our fat little faces and avoid turning into the mallrats whom we new both new and Nicole had made out with. It was at this point that we both should have realized that low standards should not be a life-mantra. Side note: mallrats most often than not, are stupid little rich kids who think the world doesn't understand them. In reality, they have every opportunity in front of them, but I digress.

Now when we shop as adults it’s different that we are more cynical, both of us wear less black because as adults we both have realized that silence is the new black, as Nicole eloquently explains it. We probably are slightly less morbid and don’t go shopping as a beard so our parents don’t see us smoking. Another thing we do while shopping is that we pick a store, window shop, start from the men’s section and then work our way down to her favorite makeup and fragrance. While I hate shopping generally, I do love people watching and making up stories for the situations one sees while shopping. Like the bitch who shoves herself into a dress that is 5 sizes too small. When she asks the sales lady about her look, gets told that she looks “radiant,” while I’m thinking more like Rhino in heels.

Anyway, back to the story. The way we “shop’ is Nicole ends up at the makeup counter and get her face done for free while never intending to buy anything. We are Russian-Jews and the make up counter is like a buffet for Russian girls, especially the samples. Only after the fact do we I realize that we single handedly keep the Jewish stereotype alive. She of course, then ends up purchasing one of the items and every time saying “I didn’t even want it, but the makeup girl made it look so damn good.” This happens time and time again in a most predictable fashion.

As we go up to one of the counters, Nicole is eyeing some hideous Cheetah bag that looks like a hooker had left it behind while running from her pimp. It’s one of those gifts with purchase. Nicole’s taste in fashion is pretty great even though I love to make fun of it. Nicole’s fashion is a hybrid of Anna Nicole Smith’s hair, may she rest in peace, Betsy Johnson’s randomness and a Sex in the City’s accessories all mixed together with a love of animal prints (something passed on from Russian mothers to their daughters). As I am trying to pull Nicole away from the glass case with that ugly bag that looks like it must have been made to carry cocaine, a rather large Jewie looking man comes up to us.

This jewie dude is dark, round, tall and fuzzy like a tennis ball, with chest hair that pokes over his HUGE gold star of David which was covered in diamonds as it’s nestled in his large man-breast cleavage. It is so large that one’s eye can’t help but stare at his cleavage. Actually, he is behind both of us, trapping me by holding one of my shoulders. I want to yell for poor Nicole to leave me and save herself, but I am only too late. Both Nicole and I pause, looking at each other to see if either of us knows him. I then responded to the tab with an awkward grin and a “Hello.” He then introduced himself as Michel, from Israel. Michel explains how he has known me from his favorite bar and will love to treat us to whatever fragrance we like. My mouth dropped. I have never been recognized like that before. It’s like being a celebrity. He takes us to a VIP spot of the store where he then offers Nicole a large sample of her favorite perfume “Sunflowers”. Being the poor college students that we are, we jump at this freebie opportunity. In all honesty, college students or not, anything free we go crazy for.
As Michel begins to compliment Nicole on her lovely skirt they both begin to talk Jew. They talk about what synagogues they have gone to. They then shift to the different symbols, he has on his neck and she has tattooed on her bosom.