Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 3: Summertime Sadness

3
Summertime Sadness

MARY

I didn't get fired. Thanks Jehovah, I owe ya.

But unvaryingly, I was rather disappointed with Wright Bros after they got me all psyched with that action. Squeegee Boy and Tanner really spiced things up. Ya dig? For the rest of the afternoon, work was boring, but it did deserve a Jehovah-level thanks because it gave me the fifteen minutes (yes, a whole fifteen minutes) required to get my hair in the PERFECT BRAID.

No one said anything about the shouting thing, and I guessed as long as Squeegee Boy didn't sue for a fractured collarbone, or something pussy like that, we're all good in da Wright Bros hood.

But the real deal was what I was going to do with my first Friday off in like, forever. I was scheduled to work every weekend. I was even scheduled to work during exams. Which was super gutless of Linda. She probably realized my scholastic career was a waste of time anyway. But yes, what to do on Friday night?

My friend Ashley, the A-1 regular smoker, was lovedrunk on her new hookup and wanted to be a committed side-hoe and go to his band's show.

Don't you hate those friends that don't take your amazing advice? Like, I'm basically Oprah Winfrey, and Ashley still thinks that "dating" (swap that for any other verb, my darling freaks) another nineteen-year-old college dropout who plays bass in a band is a good idea.

Sparing all the boring details, I'll summarize our texts back and forth on the longest bus ride home of my life: I agreed to go. I owed Ash one for letting me squat at her place the week before, and she needed a wing-woman.

Call me the Wright Sister.

After Mary and The Caravan of People Too Poor To Afford Cars, (cuz let's be honest, only poor people in Gilmore Park took the bus) got stuck in Ridgeway Avenue's rush hour traffic, and then got delayed further by roadwork on Lockport, the longest bus ride of my life came to an end. Giving me like, no time to get ready. For the sake of other humans subjected to being around me, I wanted to shower, you feel? Like, a long day at work gets you all greasy-feeling. And believe it or not, I wanted to look half-decent for the boardwalk.

There could've been hot guys there. How was I supposed to know? But let's be honest, every male in Gilmore Park is like, repulsive.

So I got pretty because, well, there's beef between Ashley and I. Which is ironic because Ash is a vegetarian. But like, one of those "I'll gorge on fries and frappuccinos" kind of vegetarians. But, well, like. Okay. I'll say it. I'm the pretty one. Now, most Basics would sell their soul to the Devil for beauty; I'd tell that ol' horny bastard to take his vanity and shove it up his ass. Because gorgeous or not, c'mon hunny, you know he'll do you as long as you spread your legs. You know how many ratchets get laid? But I'd gladly offer my soul like poker chips to Ol' Lucy any night if it meant looking better than Ash.

I had just enough time to do all the necessary means of Adriana Lima-ing myself. So yes, you betcha I plastered on that eyeliner and spoke just enough dirty Brazilian to turn myself on, and then I tried finding something to wear.

My closet stared me dead in the face and laughed for a solid minute and thirty-two seconds as I mentally composed about one hundred outfits. All of them heart-wrenching. My go-to shopping habit was thrifting, then coming home and realizing what I got was hideous, and then further realizing that one cannot simply just cut the sleeves off and make it look like a $79.99 dress from Urban Outfitters.

The laundry basket was sympathetic though; it knew I wanted to get laid. It coughed up my go-to: black jean shorts, my gray crop top (that when pit-checked, didn't smell like Mary after a long day at Wright Bros), and my Yankees snapback.