I Need A Personal Assistant

Better living through chemistry has kicked in over the past three days but I'm still "Princess Put Your Foot In It".

I used to work retail and I know what a suck assed job it can be but the ability to read a person and realize that "this is a person that just wants to pay for their merchandise and get the hell out", is a gift from the gods.

I went to the mall yesterday. Now, if you know ANYTHING about me, you will realize that this statement, in and of itself, is HILARIOUS. I would sooner be water-boarded but at the end of a session of "unconventional negotiation techniques", I doubt that they hand you a pair of black slacks.

Two freakin' hours. TWO HOURS AT THE MILLER HILL MALL! I kept crossing paths with tweens and queens over and over again and at the end of the day I had an undeniable urge to watch High School Musical.

I am able to find jeans that fit me in resale shops but slacks are a different story. I have three pairs of black slacks that I got, all for under $3.00 each, and every last one of them is now too big. Trust me on this, when you're running down the corridors at the courthouse, fantasizing about murder but powerless to do anything but scream, the LAST thing that you want running through your mind is "SHIT! My pants are falling down!"

And should I ever be in a position where I am gang tackled by security guards and wrestled to the ground, I would prefer the security cameras not get a glimpse of my ass crack.

After all, a girl has standards.

Thus, I was looking for a pair of pants and went into every single shop, even the ones that card you at the door and turn you away for being over 18. (Once I hit 35, I had a reverse fake ID made).

Finally I found a pair of pants that fit me. And I will state here and now that the sales girl was FABULOUS! She did everything right. She greeted me at the door, she told me that she would help me find anything. She directed me to the changing rooms. Let it be said that it was the best service I have had by someone under the age of 21 in forever.

But there comes a point at check out that I just want to pay and leave. I don't want to be coerced into a credit card. After I say "No, thank you," three times, you have officially worn me down. Congratulations.

So when I was posed with the question "So, where are you wearing these cute pants to?" I hesitated and just said "oh, just around."

"Like, to work...around? Or are you doing to a wedding? Someplace fun??? Come on! It has to be someplace fun, right?"

"I'm wearing them to court," I told her. "But don't worry, I'm not the one being incarcerated. If I were, I sure as heck wouldn't pay this much for a pair of pants. That's what Wal-Mart's for."

"Wow," she handed me my bag. "Bummer."

And that is why I need a personal assistant.

Or at least someone to follow me around with duct tape. Someone that knows me and will rip off a strip of duct tape and wordlessly hand it over when I am going to say something unfortunate. I could have easily lied and told her I had a wedding to go to but then I would have stood there and began to imagine just what kind of a wedding and I would have been thinking up colors for the bridesmaids dresses and the flavor of the cake and people would have been lining up behind me to pay as I came to the sudden realization that it shouldn't be JUST a wedding, it should be a gay wedding held on the front lawn of the local holy roller church. Sort of a "drive by" matrimonial protest. By the time I would have gotten to where I could purchase two men or two women for the top of the cake, 911 would have been called because I would have a vacant look in my eyes and a considerable string of drool coming out of my mouth. It has been shown that people with overactive imaginations can indeed induce seizures when overstimulated. All that disco dancing back in the 70's? Not dancing...just seizures.

Thankfully, the woman at the Target pharmacy was as game for a good laugh as I was when I went to pick up my stronger anxiety meds. She asked if I wanted to put them on auto-refill and I told her that it was unnecessary, I was only going to be crazy until the end of June. I then promised her that if I had any psychotic breakdowns, I would shop at Walgreens at the Plaza.

"Because I don't think I would be the first to do that and I don't have the energy to be a trailblazer."

She gave me a brilliant smile and said "And you can't imagine how much we appreciate that!"



So far, interviews for a personal assistant have been a little rocky. This one seems to think he should have editorial powers as well.