Unsolicited advice on 10/8/16

To the female employees in the Kohl’s fitting room yesterday, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were literally standing in front of my changing room less than two feet away.

You’re young, and believe it or not I used to be your age once upon a time (about 16 years ago to be exact).  That makes me old as fuck, and I get it.  I’m also not the type to jump into stranger’s conversations, which is why when I chirped in it was awkward, kind of rambling, and probably not very convincing.

I am not political by nature, but my job – and my husband, and to an extent my newsfeed – keeps me informed.  I understand that we are all shaped by politics to an extent and a bunch of asshole millionaires who get elected and work far, far away for part of the year dictate rules that we all must live by, often for worse.

I’m a public worker, almost on the endangered species list.  So being able to not only provide valuable services to the public and also feed my family is kind of a big deal.  I’m not sure that you get that, or if you will even when you’re my age, but that’s okay.

I tried to ignore you, I really did.  One of your teachers made your whole class register to vote, which I thought was pretty cool as I slipped off my sneakers and oversized jeans; I had lost almost twenty pounds and nothing was fitting right.  But as soon as one of you said she wasn’t registered to vote and didn’t like either Presidential candidate a little part of my brain snapped. “Ladies,” I heard myself say, voice shaking and one pant still not yet squeezed into the pair of jeans I was trying on.  “They both really  , I get it.  But there are so many local elections here that affect us directly.  It’s super important that you register and it’s really, really important that you vote.”

Silence.  I squeezed my leg into the final pant leg and hopped up an down a couple times, sock covered toes squishing into the cheap carpet.  “Ummm, thanks,” one of the girls mumbled, as they continued to shuffle through the racks of discarded clothing outside my door.  Quietly, they started talking to each other and slipped out of the dressing room, leaving me to my thoughts and fitted pants.  Still flushed, I snuck out a few minutes later, after placing a few more pieces of clothing on the returned items rack.


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