H&M

Every morning, on my walk into work from the train, I pass the H&M store on 16th and Chestnut. Some days, the employees are out unloading a shipment. And as I look at these folks, it always makes me chuckle a bit. They are, in fact, a very trendy bunch. I am positive of the fact that you cannot be hired there unless you have some sort of unnatural haircolor, have tattoos all over your body, or have bits of metal coming from this body part and that body part. The dudes, and I use that term very loosely, all wear women's jeans. Apparently this is a trend now in the emo/goth/mad-at-your-parents community.
I've often amused myself with the idea of me trying to get a job there. I can just imagine coming in for the interview - collar shirt, sweater, jeans, and New Balance sneaks on. Hair combed nicely and the only markings on my soft pink skin are freckles and other Irish blemishes. Imagine that, me- Marty O'Connor, conservative dresser, Target fashion model, and all around beacon of masculinity (ok, you can stop giggling now) trying to get a job at H&M. They'd laugh me right outta there!
I want to go into an H&M dressed like I usually dress and have this stellar resume-- like I studied fashion in Paris, managed a Gap in Manhattan, ran a boutique in Soho, etc etc etc. Then, I'd like to have someone all "tatted" up, "pierced up", "hipped up", with a resume that includes "cashier at Adult book store", "cashier at bong shop", and I'd love to know who gets the first call back.
Then I think about it, and I am sure they see me trudging to work in my suit, noose (that's a tie to the layman), and work bag and I probably look like every other suit making the zombie walk to prison. And they probably look at me with scorn and think in my spare time for fun that I burn down rainforests, club baby seals, steal oil from Middle Eastern countries, run the Clay Aiken fan club, and sip Starbucks coffee all day.