Not so slick

While walking through the mall on the way to the food court one lunchtime, I asked my coworker Shane about why a mall would have a Bath & Body Works so close to a Body Shop. Are they different? Do discriminating people have reason to visit one store over another? Shane suggested that there must be a difference, but it's only germane to people who would ever enter either store.

That night, I mentioned the twin pairing of Bath stores to Rachel, who told me that there is a sognificant difference. That led her to reminisce about a container of Body Shop Pink Grapefruit lotion that her roommate had back before we were married. Rachel had enjoyed this lotion until the roommate mentioned that it was almost depleted. Rachel immediately replaced it, but never felt comfortable using it again.

The next time I walked through the mall atrium, I told the guys I would catch up with them in a few minutes. I detoured straight to the Body Shop, picked up a tub of Pink Grapefruit Body Butter, paid for it and took it back to the office along with my salad. "Gentlemen," I said, smugly brandishing my Pink Grapefruit goo tub, "let me tell you how I'm going to earn some husband points." I even suggested that my coworkers try employing the same setup:

Ask, "Honey, is there a difference between the Body Shop and Bath and Body Works?" Take note of wife's response, return next day with gift.

That night I kissed Rachel hello when I came in the door and told her I had a present for her. I handed her the bag, and she said "Oh, the Body Shop!!"

[pause]

"Body butter??"

"Yeah, pink grapefruit, remember?" I said, my confident smile faltering.

"That was shower scrub." (SHIT! Goddamn details! Body butter is different from shower scrub?!?)

Rachel looked up and gave me a big affectionate hug. The gesture was appreciated. But fellows, take note.

train riders

Yesterday as I boarded the Route 100, I saw a young man with Downs syndrome sitting in the third row, looking at his hands. He was wearing a Chuck E. Cheese shirt - with an embroidered logo, which I assume distinguishes Chuck E. Cheese employees from mere enthusiasts. I ended up sitting one row behind him, on the opposite side of the aisle.

At the next stop, he looked very excited to see an older lady get on the train and pay her fare. He slid over to the window and waved at her in a small motion. She walked right by him to take an empty seat in the back of the train, of course, since she didn't recognize him, and the young man looked crestfallen. He grabbed his hair with both hands and bent forward until his forehead resting on the seat in front of him. His face betrayed anguish.

That's when he started with the heavy metal lyrics, whispered under his breath so only I could hear them.

This SUCKS! You're FIRED! You're a FAILURE! I HATE YOU! You're going to get WHAT'S COMING TO YOU!!

He started very soft, but as the train pulled into 69th St. yard he got a little louder. You're going to HELL! I wonder if he works within earshot of the kids.