I'm the first to admit that I'm no supermodel. Let's get that right out there, right away. But I just witnessed something that I wish could've been recorded on video. I would've sent it in to Conan or America's Funniest Somethingorother. I wanted to turn around to the person standing behind me in line to say, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing? How incredibly Alanis Morisette-Ironic is this? How are you not having to pick yourself up off the floor from the side-splitting belly laughter??!"
Alas, no video. Not even a surrepticious cellphone camera. I'll have to make do with a written description, followed by a rather poor visual example that you'll just have to use your imagination to fully appreciate.
Picture it:
I'm standing at the checkout lane of the local Walgreen's, holding my sugarless gum and my spiral notebook for purchase. I hear the clerk say, "You ready to check out?" Perfectly normal. I say "Yes." She walks over, I get out my cash, she rings up the items, then I happen to glance up at her as she tells me the total.
That's when I see her. Truly see her. She has yellow hair, the color of a dirty dishtowel. Stringy. Partially pulled back with a ratty scrunchy, then further secured with a pink and red argyle-patterned headband that looks not unlike my dog's current collar. This woman of large stature, both in height and girth, has several teeth missing. I notice, because she gives me a big ol' "how 'bout stoppin' on yer way home and pickin' up some Colonel chicken for me an' the young'uns, Earl?" kind of grin. She smells of cigarettes and something not quite fruity, not quite floral. Perhaps a Glade air freshener. And to be quite honest, she could've used a lip wax and some eyebrow plucking. For starters.
As I'm giving her my money, I glance at her name tag. I honestly couldn't tell you what her name was -- maybe Brenda or Becky or something similar. It was her job title printed underneath her name that had me fumbling to keep a howl from escaping my tightly pursed lips.
I swear. I kid you not. It said...
"Beauty Advisor"
I suppose that if you're seeking beauty advice from a chain pharmacy...well, it is what it is.
Alas, no video. Not even a surrepticious cellphone camera. I'll have to make do with a written description, followed by a rather poor visual example that you'll just have to use your imagination to fully appreciate.
Picture it:
I'm standing at the checkout lane of the local Walgreen's, holding my sugarless gum and my spiral notebook for purchase. I hear the clerk say, "You ready to check out?" Perfectly normal. I say "Yes." She walks over, I get out my cash, she rings up the items, then I happen to glance up at her as she tells me the total.
That's when I see her. Truly see her. She has yellow hair, the color of a dirty dishtowel. Stringy. Partially pulled back with a ratty scrunchy, then further secured with a pink and red argyle-patterned headband that looks not unlike my dog's current collar. This woman of large stature, both in height and girth, has several teeth missing. I notice, because she gives me a big ol' "how 'bout stoppin' on yer way home and pickin' up some Colonel chicken for me an' the young'uns, Earl?" kind of grin. She smells of cigarettes and something not quite fruity, not quite floral. Perhaps a Glade air freshener. And to be quite honest, she could've used a lip wax and some eyebrow plucking. For starters.
As I'm giving her my money, I glance at her name tag. I honestly couldn't tell you what her name was -- maybe Brenda or Becky or something similar. It was her job title printed underneath her name that had me fumbling to keep a howl from escaping my tightly pursed lips.
I swear. I kid you not. It said...
"Beauty Advisor"
I suppose that if you're seeking beauty advice from a chain pharmacy...well, it is what it is.
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