TIGHT
ENOUGH FOR ROCK 'N ROLL My co-worker, Anthony, gave me a promo poster for the new Sleater-Kinney
album, All Hands On The Bad One, last week. I oohed and aahed and
told him he was my best friend for the day, which he was.
Today I tried to borrow cds from another co-worker, Robert, and he didn't
have any with him.
"What? You have nothing for me?" I said. "Whatever."
"Hey," he said. "Have you ever heard of the web?"
Fair enough. Bust my chops and I'll listen. My chops always need some
busting. So I spent the first part of my night downloading mp3s from Kill
Rock Stars and Matador,
and I gotta tell you, what the hell are you doing here, reading this,
when you could be there, getting some fun, free music?
Anyway, that's not the real rock and roll and work story, this is:
So there's this little record store right near St. Marks and 3rd Ave.
that has cool punk rock t-shirts in the window. There was one t-shirt
in particular that had caught my fancy, a hot pink number featuring "The
Damned" logo and their picture.
I've eyed it for months, as I pass by it on my way to and from work,
but never had enough money with me. Twice I've walked home with my co-worker
Kevin [and I know it sounds like I have a lot of male co-workers, and
in fact, that is true], and pointed out the t-shirt to him.
"I must have that shirt."
This is true, this is what I said. I said it twice out loud to him,
and many times in my head, but I never bought it because, to be honest,
I thought it looked a little small.
I used good judgment. I have good judgment, dammit. It might not sound
like I have it sometimes, but I do.
Last Friday I went out with a bunch of co-workers for a little night
out that I had planned. As a reward [or punishment] for planning the night,
lots of people bought me lots of dirty Stoli martinis [which, by the way,
is the surest way to get me into bed if you were planning on trying.]
Accordingly, I got shitty drunk.
I walked home with [and this is the last one, I swear] my co-worker
Dan, and, of course, I pointed out the t-shirt as we passed the store,
because it's so cute and...it wasn't there. It wasn't in the fucking window.
Someone had bought my beloved t-shirt.
"Well, maybe it's not gone," said Dan consolingly. "Maybe they just
moved it. Let's go in." He's from Minneapolis and used to work for a record
label and grew up punk as boys from Minneapolis who go on to work for
record labels do, and once I said "The Damned" the mission became more
his than mine.
The sales clerk pointed us downstairs, and we stumbled down the stairs.
[Oh, all right, I stumbled down the stairs.] Another sales clerk
looked at our eager, panicked faces, and pulled out the t-shirt from behind
a counter.
"Oh, look at it," I said. I ran my hand over the fabric.
"You must buy it," said Dan. "It might be gone some day. Buy it now."
We pulled crumpled bills out of our pockets, somehow scrounging together
$26.99.
We walked home and I sent him off to dinner with his girlfriend. I ran
to my apartment and pulled off all of my clothes, save for my 50-cent
white slip. I pulled the t-shirt on over it and looked at myself dizzily
in the mirror. I was a goddess who needed to sleep.
That's all I remember. I woke up around noon in the t-shirt and the
slip. I walked out into my living room and greeted my roommate.
"Did you see my perfect t-shirt?" I said.
"I saw it last night, Jame," he said.
"You did?"
"We had an entire conversation about it."
"We did?"
"You don't remember?"
"Huh."
He left for the gym.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The t-shirt was size small, and I
have never been a size small in my life. I was all tits in this shirt.
The heads of The Damned band members curved under my breasts. It was the
sluttiest thing I've ever worn in my life, and that includes being naked
with men I shouldn't be naked with. It's more Christina Aguilera than
Britney Spears, if you catch my drift. There's pretty much no way I would
be seen wearing this shirt in public, unless I was planning on looking
for love in all the wrong places.
I talked to Kevin today. I told him I bought the t-shirt.
"You finally bought that shirt? It's about time."
"I look like such a slut in that shirt. I can't wear it. It's ridiculous.
My chest looks huge."
He laughed at me. They all laugh at me eventually.
It's been all about rock
'n roll and work lately.
-by Jami of whatever-whenever,
NYC
