Ever have one of those conversations where you begin to speak about an experience excitedly, knowing that the other person (or in my case, 17 other people in the room) will know exactly what it’s like to have that experience, and then you can all laugh about it?
Remember when that experience is hilariously telling that story about how you’ve been kicked out of so many places, especially clothing stores, with your sister and how funny it is because it happens to everyone?
Remember how all 17 other people in the room started at you in horror, never having behaved poorly enough to be kicked out of anywhere, ever?
To the entire world for this track record of dipshittery you’re about to officially know, I’m so sorry. It’s no wonder that most of the places I’ve been don’t want me back.
I’m sorry, 3-5 separate Dillards, for ‘creating a disrespectful spectacle’ in the prom dress section. Your love affair with poorly-hemmed ruffled rayon and iridescent jingle sequins is unparalleled–I will never not laugh when my sister and I put a size 0 on each of our legs and dance the merengue in a dressing room.
I’m sorry, TJ Maxx, for trying on the crushed velvet bodysuit your fine establishment was proffering. I’m sorry my sister took 14 pictures of me in it while being unable to breathe through the laughter. I’m less sorry that your dressing room staff got an eyeful of the most unfortunate camel toe of their lives.
I’m sorry, Anthony’s Clothing for my mother getting riled up about a snippy checkout clerk, and in retaliation, leading us on a merry Wizard-Of-Oz-Skipline right out the door while she shouted, “WELL AREN’T WE ALL HAPPY AND FUCKING CHIPPER TODAY.”
I’m sorry, horse-drawn carriage in Kentucky, for leading all 13 other people in the cart with me in a sing-along of “Tunes of Fern Gully.” I’m sorry I care about the environment enough to rock the nostalgic shit out of Hot Stepper and therefore brought happiness through melody to your utterly joyless city on the way to The Spaghetti Warehouse, which you assured us was a fine establishment and were clearly wildly mistaken about.
I’m sorry, Hot Topic, for being ‘shifty’ because I was wearing a cheerleading uniform because I was a high school cheerleader. I just wanted some spiked collars and black rubber bracelets because I was hard as fuck and had so many dark feelings that no one could understand. You judged me by my perky red-white-and-blue exterior, and for that, I am terribly sorry. However, you still sell JNCOs, so, you know, glass houses and shit.
I’m sorry, US Naval Base Hotel, for downing 2 Irish Car Bombs and then instigating a roller-skate race down some stucco-lined stairs using a small snake as a relay baton. I’m sorry that 2 men in sailor suits found us bloody in a bush the next morning, and had to assist in my climb back up the stairs. I’m not sorry that I partied too awesomely for the US Navy.
I’m sorry, McDonalds in Denver, for frisbee-ing a burger patty at a friend “to see if it would stick to your face.” It did, but you wouldn’t know that because you were too busy leaping the register to yell at me, using a tray as a shield against errant pickles.
I’m sorry, many Dairy Queens. I’m more sorry that I don’t remember even one of these episodes well enough to clarify, but I remember being tossed out of at least 2, and I’m sorry that it happened. I think?
I’m sorry, night manager in Golden Corral, for my stepdad calling you a “ginger midget asshole,” and then threatening to, “take it outside,” if you didn’t allow my sister to purchase a chicken finger basket in lieu of a buffet meal. I’m sorry I encouraged him, wanting desperately to be able to say, “My stepdad once kicked the shit out of a Golden Corral Manager,” because at 12, that was the height of cool. I had no idea how completely white trash that sounded until I was well into college.
I’m sorry, Pepsi Center in Denver, for running in a hallway. I’m sorry you’re all working in a giant cauldron full of dicks, because that’s the only reason you would kick me out for running in a hallway.
I’m sorry, Warped Tour, for whipping that turkey leg back at the person who whipped it at me in the first place. I’m sorry that I yelled to your security guards, “That whore can’t just go around whipping turkey legs at people because this is America, and Bald Eagles don’t whip people with their brethren.” I’m sorry I called you a Ben Franklin Apologist. I’m sorry I ducked into the saddest mosh pit ever while Simple Plan was up when you threatened to throw us out. In all fairness, I got my dues for having to mosh to Simple goddamn Plan.
I’m sorry, Taco Bell I Immediately Visited After Warped Tour, for shouting and smelling, admittedly, like the weed and beer I could not have because I was 17. I realize I looked incredibly high, but I was just deafened and rendered smelly by the tour itself. I just wanted a burrito, and a burrito I was denied.
I’m most sorry, Christopher and Banks, for going with a friend who didn’t want to have to stay long and directed me to, “give her an out.” I’m sorry the first thing that came to my head was to loudly ask, “can nuns still get away with the whole chastity pledge if they just have anal sex? I had some really religious friends who thought they could get around it that way. I bet there were at least a couple nuns who were taking it up the b-hole.” I’m sorry I contributed to the ‘degradation of the brand and of the very ideas of morals themselves.’ I’m sorry I’m never allowed in any Christopher and Banks ever again, because I have a dearth of pencil-buttoned sweaters in my world.
I promise to try to be less of an asshole in the future, unless it steps on a piece of comedy gold. Or if it might be kinda funny I think. Or if my sister is there. Coldwater Creek and Chico’s, you’re next on my list.
Noa D. Gavin
Ever been kicked out of somewhere? TELL ME!– Favorite Comment From The Last Post:
From Mandi E.: “I think my favorite TFD comic ever was the one about how everyone drives badly and should die in a fire because of it except for me. Or that’s what I took away from it, anyway.”