I've never felt a direct connection to the film Pretty Woman. I am not a philandering, playboy millionaire who buys and sells people as if they were designer shoes, nor am I a hooker with a heart of gold. However, in the spectrum that falls between those two, I'd more likely be found on a well-lit street corner wearing something inappropriate than I would be dining on expensive French cuisine in a fancy suit. However, you can imagine my surprise when my life seemed to unintentionally parallel the famous Pretty Woman scene from below on an innocent Saturday afternoon.
You see, I am not a big fan of shopping. In general, you will never find me meandering through a mall browsing windows or longing for the items behind the glazed, shine-free facades, unless there is a 100% guarantee that I will have the ability to chow down on some exotic cuisine, like burritos, from the food court. It's just not how I roll. But, the other day, I was a little bit bored and I live within walking distance of a big, trendy shopping centre. The floors are marble and the brands inside are top of the line and generally pronounced in such a way that requires too much effort for my lazy tongue to attempt. It's a far cry from my Wal-Mart sensibilities and a place that I'd never want or be able to purchase things from.
Anyways, I decided to dip into the Tag Heuer watch store and look at some of their products. Within recent times, I have refused to wear a watch because I have felt as if I am a slave to the concept of time. I was always checking it and worrying about it, so I eliminated watches from my life. Plus, why would I pay money for something when I can just look to the heavens and use my forehead and protruding nose as a sundial and get a somewhat accurate assessment of the time of day?
So, I walked in looking like an urban hillbilly with jeans, an old t-shirt and flip flops - a picture of white trash perfection. I walked past not one, not two but three employees and the most attention I got was a side-eyed glance. I apparently did not fit their customer mold. Moments later, a young couple wearing tacky gold necklaces and bracelets walked in and instantly, they were on them like, well...a hooker on a street corner. Me, nope...I remained ignored as I "accidentally" smudged the glass encasements with the remnants of the Kit-Kat chocolate that I had attempted to lick clean from my fingers before entering.
With my self-esteem having been dipped in the mop bucket of life, I walked out of that store vowing to never return. At least not until that precious day comes when someone discovers my real worth and fills my pockets full of gold coins, and I go buy the most blinging, oversized, gold Rolex watch that I can find. Then, and only then, will I walk back into that Tag Heuer store, look those fake, barely minimum wage earning employees in the eyes and let them know that their treatment of me was a "big mistake - HUGE!" Until then though, I'm just gonna be here eating a Kit Kat.
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