Moments of Defeat
there are several scenarios in which i have a much higher chance of feeling as though i have failed in life than i usually do in my normal life.
1. selling clothes to a hip secondhand store
the promise is so compelling. have clothes that you never wear anymore, occupying valuable cubic inches of real estate in your studio apartment? get rid of them! get paid for it, too!
this is such a crock. first of all, you have to go through the heartbreaking process of going through al of your shopping failures, relive this 'cute or ugly?' nonsense, and realize that you answered incorrectly many, many times.
second, you have to stuff all of this into some giant shopping bags that you had to fish out from under your sink, and sadly remember that this may not be the first time that this skirt has met this bag.
third, you have to truck all of this junk on the 22-Fillmore and go up to the Crossroads that actually pays you relatively well. and since the 22-Fillmore is always crowded on the weekends, you're probably standing in the middle of the bus, knocking your bags into people, and starting to sweat a tiny bit.
fourth, you have to stand there and watch asymmetrical-haircut-girl use as little surface area of her index fingers and thumbs as possible to pick up each article of clothing gingerly, judge it with a poker face, and quietly fold it over to the right hand side of the wrinkly pile that you start to recognize as your personal Forever 21 landfill. after it's all over, she pushes the new pile that's accumulated back towards you, rests her left hand on the tse cashmere sweater that you accidentally shrinked in the wash because you're an idiot and says, 'we'll take this. would you like $1.50 in store credit or $1.00 in cash?'
2. going to the dentist
see: hoo haw
3. trying on boots
i have huge calves. every time i see a pair of great boots i think, maybe! just maybe, this leather will be really really stretchy. maybe it is a new special hybrid polymer of leather and elastic. maybe.
it never is, and all my dreams of being in a fall j.crew catalog poof away.
4. selling back college textbooks
berkeley was filled with people who fancied themselves down-to-earth geniuses with hearts of gold for going to a public university. from my classes, you'd think that everyone had self-cultivated (forced or not) a desire for esoteric knowledge that you'd never use again. the more obscure, the better.
not a TRACE of this at the campus bookstore at the end of the semester. lugging your books to the bookstore is bad enough (see: selling clothes to a hip secondhand store), as is someone judging my wardrobe, but not my textbooks! my classes! my brain! my intellectual livelihood!
the muted yet complete disdain on the faces of the people who work the campus bookstores and the Crossroads on Fillmore is the same. the only noticeable difference between them is that the tattered cardigan of the campus bookstore girl is actually vintage and not from Anthropologie.
what do all of these scenarios have in common? perhaps it is that all of these scenarios are significant because success in them is indicative of an earlier victory that i've always wanted. these would be: having clothes that someone wants even after i've worn and decided to discard from my Elite Closet. possessing well-behaved teeth that are white and pristine, even when you peer inside of my mouth. having svelte and slim legs that slip easily into boots that complete a polished yet low-maintenance look, come autumn. studying a subject and materials that my peers also find intriguing and worthwhile.
i think what is much more likely is that all of these places have some grouchy mcgrouchersons who work for them who give me the judgmental eyeball once they've made an assessment of the situation, and then decide to apply it to me.
to all of you who i've encountered: screw you! i don't care if you don't want to buy back Dynamic physical chemistry;: A textbook of thermodynamics, equilibra, and kinetics. i didn't read it anyway. fuckers.
1. selling clothes to a hip secondhand store
the promise is so compelling. have clothes that you never wear anymore, occupying valuable cubic inches of real estate in your studio apartment? get rid of them! get paid for it, too!
this is such a crock. first of all, you have to go through the heartbreaking process of going through al of your shopping failures, relive this 'cute or ugly?' nonsense, and realize that you answered incorrectly many, many times.
second, you have to stuff all of this into some giant shopping bags that you had to fish out from under your sink, and sadly remember that this may not be the first time that this skirt has met this bag.
third, you have to truck all of this junk on the 22-Fillmore and go up to the Crossroads that actually pays you relatively well. and since the 22-Fillmore is always crowded on the weekends, you're probably standing in the middle of the bus, knocking your bags into people, and starting to sweat a tiny bit.
fourth, you have to stand there and watch asymmetrical-haircut-girl use as little surface area of her index fingers and thumbs as possible to pick up each article of clothing gingerly, judge it with a poker face, and quietly fold it over to the right hand side of the wrinkly pile that you start to recognize as your personal Forever 21 landfill. after it's all over, she pushes the new pile that's accumulated back towards you, rests her left hand on the tse cashmere sweater that you accidentally shrinked in the wash because you're an idiot and says, 'we'll take this. would you like $1.50 in store credit or $1.00 in cash?'
2. going to the dentist
see: hoo haw
3. trying on boots
i have huge calves. every time i see a pair of great boots i think, maybe! just maybe, this leather will be really really stretchy. maybe it is a new special hybrid polymer of leather and elastic. maybe.
it never is, and all my dreams of being in a fall j.crew catalog poof away.
4. selling back college textbooks
berkeley was filled with people who fancied themselves down-to-earth geniuses with hearts of gold for going to a public university. from my classes, you'd think that everyone had self-cultivated (forced or not) a desire for esoteric knowledge that you'd never use again. the more obscure, the better.
not a TRACE of this at the campus bookstore at the end of the semester. lugging your books to the bookstore is bad enough (see: selling clothes to a hip secondhand store), as is someone judging my wardrobe, but not my textbooks! my classes! my brain! my intellectual livelihood!
the muted yet complete disdain on the faces of the people who work the campus bookstores and the Crossroads on Fillmore is the same. the only noticeable difference between them is that the tattered cardigan of the campus bookstore girl is actually vintage and not from Anthropologie.
what do all of these scenarios have in common? perhaps it is that all of these scenarios are significant because success in them is indicative of an earlier victory that i've always wanted. these would be: having clothes that someone wants even after i've worn and decided to discard from my Elite Closet. possessing well-behaved teeth that are white and pristine, even when you peer inside of my mouth. having svelte and slim legs that slip easily into boots that complete a polished yet low-maintenance look, come autumn. studying a subject and materials that my peers also find intriguing and worthwhile.
i think what is much more likely is that all of these places have some grouchy mcgrouchersons who work for them who give me the judgmental eyeball once they've made an assessment of the situation, and then decide to apply it to me.
to all of you who i've encountered: screw you! i don't care if you don't want to buy back Dynamic physical chemistry;: A textbook of thermodynamics, equilibra, and kinetics. i didn't read it anyway. fuckers.
posted by Annie at 10:30 PM
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