Staring contest

So here I am doing my work, and into the store walks a quintent of jean-skirted, large-sized-t-shirted, sneaker wearing, hair-in-a-bun women.

I am in my black jeans, fitting long-sleeved shirt, and makeup, and my hair in a design.

I could probably help it, but I stare at them. I have this crazy urge to follow them around the store and listen to how they talk to one-another. I want to see if they rode a big car here. I want them to come by me, but they check out behind my line of vision. At one point I broke from my training and turned around and caught one of the girls eyes. It was amazing. I could see the self-righteous pity oozing out of them. Me in my feminism-bound working nightmare. Me in my worldly blindness, them the only holy light in my world. I don't know, maybe I was imagining it.

I turned back to what I was doing, waiting for the rush of guilt. I always used to get it when I was around someone more "modestly dressed" than I was.

Nothing

I felt nothing.

I turned around again, and this time all three of the daughters (the two ladies were older, and had the money) were looking at me. A different girl was looking at me with a hint of scorn, I think. I panned over to the moms. The one looked at me and smiled kindly. I turned around again and focused on my work.


Next time I looked around they were gone.