I am not a hipster. Big surprise. I'm also not one of those people who hate them. Honestly, I'm not exactly sure what separates them from the "scene" and "emo" kids. What can I say? I guess I'm just not cool enough to run with the hep cats. Anyway, the point of that rant was that yesterday I was surrounded by smelly people. Both at work and after. During my day at the local hellhole, I was battered left and right by the original hipsters... the kind who have broken a hip. For some reason, the old people who usually look at me with a look of disdain decided that I must have reminded them of their granddaughter and they were drawn to me like a shuffleboard in the middle of Miami. I don't know if it's the denture cream, hard tac candy or the smell of impending death, but all of the old people smelt horrible. Maybe it was because they were truly rotten to the core. None of them were the sweet little old grandma... so it was definitely not the hard tac candy stench. Only one of them is specifically worth mentioning. Because she was on speed. Or at least that's what it seemed like. She ran up to my register all concerned because she had to exchange a sweater and she found the only one that wasn't damaged. OK. We've had these sweaters since June, they are bound to get snagged. Then she started shuffling things around on the counter and exclaimed "Oh my God! Where's my purse?!" Then, I'm pretty sure she ripped out a chunk of hair and went running towards the fitting room, where she reputedly ran down the hallway and knocked on every single door looking for her purse. The fitting room attendant finally found it underneath a pile of clothes that the cracked out customer left in there. Did she thank the fitting room attendant? No. She thanked God because (s)He apparently looked down at this poor customer who didn't know how to hang up clothes, smiled, and protected her purse from the evil doings of other MCN customers by hiding it in the mess that she left in the fitting room. Right. Anyway, the customer ran back to the register, even more spastic now and practically hyperventilating. Now, I've left my purse places before and I've been quite concerned. Not overdramatic and creating a scene for amused spectators in the line and one very scared associate. Everything that could happen to make the transaction last longer did. Her card wouldn't slide, she didn't understand when I asked for her card so I could try to slide it at the register, she hit cancel instead of complete, etc. Then to top off the whole thing, she was on her way to the doctors' office. Couldn't she have stopped after? And been very, very medicated. I thought it couldn't get any better, but then I picked up the sweater and it reeked of cats and was completely covered in cat hair. Thank God I'm more of a crazy, nerdy dog lady.
Then I encountered my smelly people of the evening- AKA the youngster hipsters. My friends invited me to tag along to a gallery crawl, which sometimes amuse me. Never this much though. As soon as we walked in, my friend turned to me and said "Do you see?" I was rather confused, scanned the crowd and said "No." Then I realized why I didn't see. I wasn't looking down. It was a magical moment when the crowd parted in slow motion and I heard the magical sound of the opening to David Bowie's "As the World Falls Down" from the motion picture "Labyrinth." Standing the middle of the crowd was the littlest hipster. I wanted to kidnap him and present him to boss lady (Chelsea Handler) who just happened to be performing in town tonight. Apparently thats illegal or something. But I figured a hipster nugget would be better than a bottle of Belvedere. However, did manage to snap a picture of the little guy for the world to see. The mental portrait I have will always remain in my memory.
The littlest hipster. He could be in a children's book... or a children's movie. Like the motion picture "Labyrinth" starring David Bowie...
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