After a nice morning of bellydancing and then a catch up with a friend, my car broke down as my Mum and I headed out for a afternoon of shopping.
Something about a heater and leaking radiator fluid and the thermostat at the hot emergency level. Something about me needing to update membership to RACV and then pay this stupid $161 surcharge. It needed towing.
On the upside, both the RACV guys who attended to this damsel in distress were cute, AND when I pulled the broken down car into the nearest servo, who should be parked next to me but Vince Colosimo! Yes, I am the queen of spotting Underbelly actors.
But alas! This was no time to be asking for autographs or posing for photos. Mum would have killed me.
Anyhow, the car is home now, waiting for another tow truck trip to the mechanics. We sat in the truck. It was a little bit exciting.
I digress.
I have rarely said a bad word about anyone on this blog. Until now.
To kill time while waiting for RACV, Mum and I had a stroll down High Street Northcote. It was a gorgeous day and I wanted to check out some of the shops as I've only ever been there at night when I go to the Northcote Social Club to see a band.
The first shop we walked into was a second hand shop called Things Second Hand. It's located at 115 High Street.
I remember looking at a jacket, and then walking down the shop behind Mum. The shop was stacked with stuff. So much stuff I didn't actually see any individual items other than piles of stuff.
The shop keeper stared at me for about 20 seconds. I smiled and asked her if she was ok.
She said 'what's on your face?'
Here we go again, I thought. Another person questioning my appearance.
'Nothing', I said.
'What's on your face?', she demanded again.
Mum and I turned around to walk out of the store.
'Be careful of the clothes. I don't want what's on your face to ruin them'.
Yep. She said that. Several times, in a high pitched voice. Bitch.
Now generally, no matter how rude someone is when asking about my appearance, they may have a tiny concern for my wellbeing. Worried I am sunburnt. Worried I am burnt.
Not this woman. She was worried about her second hand clothes in her store, that was already packed the rafters with junk, getting dirty from my vaseline.
Sure, my vaseline poses a problem for the clothes I wear. My washing machine has a work out. I have to carefully choose fabrics so the oil doesn't show up.
But today, I didn't touch anything in her store, let alone rub my face up against them.
Though I defend myself pretty well, I rarely swear.
I said 'fuck you' to her more than four times.
I told her that I was born this way and that my face will not harm her 'fucking clothes'.
In haste, I pushed Mum into another piece of junk in her shop as we walked out.
She followed us out, ranting.
She ranted on the street. She ranted to passers by about how rude I was and that my face would damage her clothes.
There has been one other time in my 28 years that a shopkeeper has queried me about my vaseline ruining their clothes. The other time was about 10 years ago when a lady asked me politely not to touch the hats in the store. She wasn't rude. But I did walk about of the store.
I love shopping, and when I do try on clothes, I take the utmost care to ensure my skin and vaseline doesn't damage the clothes. There have been times when I've felt compelled to buy something if too much of my skin is on the clothing.
But today, I didn't touch anything. Today was unbelievable. I have never felt so worthless, or demeaned in a store.
I felt like going back in there, and smearing vaseline over the junk in the store.
I was so riled up that I took a photo of the store.
I want everyone to know that a rude, discriminatory woman works there.
My day can only improve.
