Never Marry An Icon

1~ Black Leather

"Jesus Christ, that's an awful color. Put that back."

"But I like it,"

"No, Steve. I'm not letting you wear that awkward thing. It looks like the exact same color as cat vomit. Or the color of a frog in a blender."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll put it back if it'll make you stop whining,"

°•--○--•°

Today was a snowy day in November, and I had just clocked in to start working at my job that I had held at the department store for about two months now. It was a good paying job, and it wasn't the worst. Most of the time I would just stock the shelves and mind my own business since my boss never put me at the register. I knew how to work a register and everything; the boss man just never assigned me there. Today I was in the men's fashion department for some odd reason; we had enough guys working today for me not to be put there, but I didn't make the rules. That was again up to the boss man, and his rules didn't always make the most sense. He usually made me sweep the floors or stay in the back room where we crushed the boxes, but today he had decided to pick me up and pin - point me in the men's fashion department. It was like the women's, I guessed, since all I had to do today was stock racks.

As I walked down the shiny white marble floor and to a rack in the middle of the men's department, I only heard the soft clicking noises of my platform sneakers after every step and the faint elevator music that constantly played throughout the entire store. My task given at the moment was to stock a naked rack full of heavy leather jackets for the winter. As I began stocking the rack, I pulled one after another after another of long, leather jackets, something that was only popular back in the seventies. Or with rock stars. No one normal would buy a jacket like that, it would get all dirty from the usual errands people usually did every day. As I continued looking through the large box of coats, I stocked a few more jackets that had the Letterman style, and a few bomber jackets as well. Once I was done (it took no less than ten minutes) I went back and got another box, unpacking it and then doing the same thing. But this time, as I was stocking the next rack, I heard some very distinct British voices coming my way.

"Jesus Christ, that's an awful color. Put that back."

"But I like it,"

"No, Steve. I'm not letting you wear that awkward thing. It looks like the exact same color as cat vomit. Or the color of a frog in a blender."

"Okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll put it back if it'll make you stop whining,"

"Thank you. Now find a better jacket. I don't have all day."

The people I were watching looked like two generic rock stars with their long hair and strange outfits, and once they began walking closer to where I was, I stepped out in front of the rack I was working on and attempted to give them my best greeting. "Hello, how may I help you today?"

The man with the long red hair in thin dreads at the bottom and large, silver hoop earrings smiled a little. He was wearing a buttoned up leather jacket and tight jeans. "Yes. You can try to help us. My friend here says that my taste in jackets isn't the best. I need your help finding me a new one,"

"Okay. I can try," I then looked over at his friend who was standing next to him and smiled, eyes widening a bit as I got a closer look at him. He was a tall, thin, pale man
(man...?)
with his long black perm falling half - way down his back. He had on some eyeliner but not too much, and the outfit he wore was a pair of tight black spandex pants, tall black boots with a slight heel, a greenish - black sweater, and tacky, oversized leather gloves. His eyes were an unnatural blue, unlike the natural colored eyes of his friend. After I turned around, I led the two men
(men?)
towards the rack I was stocking. "Here. There's a bunch of leather jackets here to choose from, different sizes and different colors. Pick which one you want."

"Yeah, pick which one you want," The black permed man said, crossing his arms as he stared at his friend from the back.

(It's a man
No woman could ever have a voice that deep)
"Um... maybe I can help...? I think the black leather color could look really nice with your red hair, sir,"

The red - haired man (from what I had heard before from their conversation, his name was Steve) took his head out of the rack and placed a hand on his chin, thinking. He then turned to his friend. "Do you think it would look nice on me, Pete?"

"I don't care. I just wanna get out of here."

Steve rolled his eyes and then grabbed the first jacket he looked at in black. After trying it on in front of us, he did a few poses to make sure the jacket was big enough, then he slipped it off. "I think I like this one. Thank you, miss."

I nodded. "Yup. You're welcome. It's all in what I do. Come back again sometime."