I took my younger brother Peach to Macquarie centre this arvo because he needed to buy some stuff so he could be cool at a party tonight - I wonder what Governer Macquarie would say if he saw his own shopping centre, he'd probably be pissed off because he couldn't get a park near Bayswiss.
Anyway, we went into General Pants because they are the preferred outfitter of cool teens. On entering the store, a hip young dude with an eyebrow ring approached us and said 'How ya going boys? What you up to?' I mumbled something about being 'Good thanks' hoping to end the conversation - not because I don't like hip dudes, I'm just not very comfortable in a retail situation. Alas, he then followed up on this with 'Dude, where'd you score that jumper from? Its rad!' I responded with 'Umm I got it from the Glebe markets ages ago...Its pretty old' (All of a sudden feeling very Fernando Frisoni 'Who's Looking Hot in Sydney' from the Sun-Herald). Fair enough, being nice to potential customers is a good way to sell stuff, but does he have to bring me to a General Pants level of wankerdom when I am clearly trying to appear distant and suttle (read blase and cool).
It didn't end there. The second, more-senior young hipster (he had a bigger set of keys, so perhaps a manager) approached with a similar opening line. He then followed up with a stare followed by 'man I have the exact same jeans, where did you get them from?' My timid and vulnerable response explained where I got said jeans from. Despite my prayers to the God of awkwardness and public-relations the conversation did not end hear. He then started to say, 'Really, I didn't think (said store) stocked (said pretentious clothing label) anymore'
'Umm I don't really know...' (read I want to go home).
He then started to regale me with an awesome story that his cousin managed a store in the Strand Arcade that was having a sale, and that I should go down. I don't really understand his logic, I'm apparently already a big enough spanner by virtue of owning these pants, why do I need more? The somewhat one-way conversation then went down the inevitable path of him telling me how many pairs of these jeans he owned, 16 I think it was? I hope he kept the tags on them, he could take them back and refund them for a deposit on a house or maybe a tank of petrol for his mums landcruiser (see, now I'm being slightly hypocritical, granted - even though my mum drives a hatch-back).
Only last night at work I was wearing the offending jeans, when a friend Kym pointed out that I was a complete hypocrite as I always am the first to call people wankers and place them in bored and generalised categories. So this story is dedicated to Kym, who has made me think that - maybe I've lost my edge? Have I sold out? In all fairness when you're as skinny as me, it is hard to find pants that aren't massive - thus jeans made to be painted on for your normal fashionista on Crown St fit me pretty well. So maybe I have sold out Kym...At least I'd blend in if I ever need to go undercover in Darlinghurst.