Page 4 of Pick-Up
And they say chivalry is dead.
“It was an accident, Ethan!” says Lisa/Lorraine/Lauren, with a forced chuckle. “She was walking backward and didn’t see where she was going.”
“Walking backward? Why would you do that?” he says to me.
“Why?” I repeat.
I am incredulous, and it has to register on my face.
We hold each other’s gaze for a beat. His eyes would be nice if they weren’t glaring at me.
“I am literally on the ground,” I say finally.
The VIMs, and even L/L/L, are unsure of what to do next. It is awkward. They watch us, mouths slightly agape.
“Right. Sorry.” My douchebag in shining armor—Ethan, apparently—offers a hand to help me up. It’s a nice, strong hand. But I don’t give a fuck. I look at it with my own disdain, like it might be coated in excrement and I might be the late queen of England. Then, I brush the granite pebbles off my palms and push myself to standing.
Once up, I hold my posture ramrod straight to show him how haughty I can be. It’s hard to look superior when you’ve just fallen on your ass, but one does what one can.
“Um. Well, look at the time!” says L/L/L, who has not looked at the time. “I better get going!”
I guess now I know how to get rid of her. She leaves without anyone saying goodbye.
This Ethan person has retracted his hand and is now using it to sort through forest-green T-shirts on the folding table in front of us.
“You should watch where you’re going,” he mumbles. “You could get hurt.”
“I’m fine,” I grunt. “Thanks for asking.”
Simultaneously, we both plaster smiles on our faces and look up at the women manning the booth.
“Can I help… one of you?” says Red Vest. “I’m not sure who’s next?”
“I think it’s me—”
“I am—”
We say on top of each other.
“If you don’t mind…,” I begin.
“I’m running late…,” he finishes.
It’s amazing how busy men can be.
Red Vest looks at Green Vest in a panic. And it is because I feel for her (a.k.a. don’t want other moms to hate me) that I say, “Fine. He can go ahead.”
I am obviously the bigger person.
“Okay,” says Red Vest. “What can I get you?”
“I’d like a hoodie,” he says. “For a third grader. What size would you recommend?”
“Oh, great! A youth medium, for sure.” She sorts through the pile for the right size. “Oh, look! You got the very last one!” Green Vest pulls out a tablet to run Ethan’s credit card.
“Thanks for your patience,” says Red Vest, turning to me. “Now, what would you like?”
“A T-shirt in 5T for a kindergartner,” I say, gritting my teeth. “And a hoodie. For a third grader. In a sizeyouth medium.”
