I had to go to this custom t-shirt store on Haight Street and get myself a custom t-shirt (for personal reasons, obviously.) Helping me create my masterpiece is an incredibly intimidating woman with tattoos all over her neck, curling around her chin. It was a turtleneck of tats. She was wearing a custom hoodie with what I assume to be an inside joke across the chest, and she could not be more over it.
Ironing on my letters and shit took awhile, and so, because I am my mother’s daughter, I felt the need to make conversation by asking the most circumstantially obvious question I could think of.
“What’s the weirdest thing anyone’s ever put on a t-shirt?”
“(Pause) Um, I’m actually a really non-judgemental person, so that’s a really subjective question.”
“Well,” I said, “Do people ever get anything, you know, wildly inappropriate?”
“(Annoyed pause) It takes a lot for me to think something is inappropriate.”
She said this in all seriousness, as if she imagined my life to be one suburban shock after the next. She might as well have slammed down my ¾ sleeve fitted-t and deadpanned, “Hello? Reality check, lady. You don’t get tattoos on your neck if you find anything inappropriate ever. I work at a custom t-shirt shop on Haight Street of all places. I have literally seen it all.”
But instead, she kept it all inside, saving her annoyance with me for what I can only imagine to be a seriously satisfying self-cutting session to the soundtrack of Singles…