Value Village Just Got Served
Sometimes, when Mercury aligns with the seventh moon of Jupiter, and your local psychic (aka drug dealer) forecasts the aura of purple candor, you find yourself without a single responsibility for a period of 24 authentic hours. You've got an empty slate, an open book, and you can choose to write the events of your day with any pen you want. Metaphorically speaking, you could pick a lemon scented smelly felt, a boring pencil, or a chewed on bic pen that still has a little bit of spit on it from the last time you were chewing on it. Yesterday Al and I chose the latter.
Not too long ago, in the city of Surrey, Value Village got knocked up and gave birth to a cute little store named Talize. Talize is better than V.V. in my opinion, 'cause most of the pants don't have pee encrusted crotch stains, and they have the most expansive array of possessed-hair-chopped-off dolls that stare you down no matter where you are in the store. If Talize was walking home late one night, and Value Village came out of the shadows and was all "Hey give me your money!" Talize would definitely pull some shit that would make V.V. kiss it's second hand cowboy boots. Shit you couldn't even fathom because it would blow your mind and make you cry from the fragile beauty of its subtlety. I should be getting paid for this Talize advertisement.
Al got two shirts, and I got the sweetest pair of high tops this world has ever seen. I'm sure whoever parted with these babies was having a tough time letting go. She probably didn't have enough money. She probably thought about her decision for weeks finally coming to the conclusion that she'd never be able to provide the kind of life for them that she knew they truly deserved. The night she left the awesome hightops on Talize's doorstep she must have been distraught and full of guilt; wiping her salty tears away, and looking back only once to bid her lovelies a silent farewell. It's with the deep understanding of her pain that I am now able to rock out, pimp this town, and bring the funk in these kicks. And they were $3 so...
When Al was in the changeroom some woman tried to get the apathetic cashiers to give her an added discount on a dress that "Smells so bad, Oh God, it smells so bad. Seriously, you have to do something about this, mark it down." I was like, oh c'mon, the whole store smells bad, that's why EVERYTHING is discounted.
As our searching and scavenging was nearing an end I pointed to a size 100 pair of pants with flags plastered all over it and said "Hey Al, what about these?"
Allan cocked his head to the side, gave a contemplative pause, and then shook his head no.
"I think someone died in those."