Being oppressed.

Happy belated Columbus Day, by the way*. I celebrated my proud and slight Native American heritage by being angry at white people all day.
Work is full of pairs and small packs of 18-yr-old rural Midwestern girls, freshly-minted college friendships. They buy matching trucker hats, overuse the phrase "on crack", plan on being each other's maid of honor. They talk about sororities. You can actually see the adreneline surge of adolescent freedom and terror on their faces as they walk through the city and world that they are suddenly free to do whatever they want to do in, which in many cases what they choose to do with this newfound freedom is to put something around a hundred dollars of discount clothing on their brand new "emergencies only, now" parental credit card. Something around one in twenty transactions I ring up involves the customer telling her friend, "Dad's going to be so mad at me." Significantly less transactions end with a customer who offers to lift me out of this wage slave drudgery that I'm too good for and to support me financially and psychically so I can realize my artistic potential and make everyone in the word swooningly jealous of my talents, but we're working on changing that.


*The American Indian Movement has a super kick ass logo (the pissed-off eagle one at the bottom of their homepage) that they for some reason do not have on a tshirt. If you are a person in the American Indian Movement who can affect merch-related change, please put that kick ass logo on a tshirt for me.