There's Nothing I Hate Worse
Scene: Greensburg Gabe’s. There was a young girl working the fitting room, obviously a bit out to lunch. Every time I came out to retrieve more clothes, she had a comment or question. “Is it s’posed to rain tomorrow? Cuz it’s my day off.” “D’ya like this shirt? Cuz I’m goin’ to m’ boyfriend’s tomorrow and it’s s’posed to rain.” Once when I came out, she was holding her head in her hands. “Aargh,” she moaned. “Aargh.” I approached her to let her count my items, and she looked at me seriously, a bit close to my face. “I hit my head last night,” she confided. “I fell.” She thought for a moment. “I can’t believe I didn’t split m’ head open.” Looking at me intently. “Seriously, I can’t believe I didn’t split m’ head open. There’s nothing’ I hate worse than gettin’ m' head split open.” A laugh rose up in me so quickly I almost didn’t catch it in time. Discombobulated, I tried to hand her back my number tag, confusing her; she handed it back, and I headed to the fitting room. “My head’s n...