The Song Remains the Same

Chapter Three: The Radiohead Dilemma

Chapter Three: The Radiohead Dilemma

October 15th, 2014

I don't think I've ever put more thought into my appearance before than when I got ready for work today. The only other time I could possibly remember doing something like this was my first day of senior year when I tried to get the school's it-boy to notice me. Though this time I wasn't looking nice to impress anybody- of course I wasn't trying to impress Nate. I was doing it more so he wouldn't find anything to make fun of, anything to make me seem like the freak he used to (and probably still) think I was.

I had stood in front of my mirror covering the entirety of one of my walls, making sure my light high-waisted jeans rose to the perfect place on my stomach, the jeans tucked perfectly into my black shoe boots, and the zipper of my black cropped-topped shirt placed perfectly in the center of my body. I was sure to make my hair pin straight so that the fading of my brunette hair to its blonde ombré was seamless and sleek.

I'd even spent a good hour in front of the bathroom mirror, making my make-up completely perfect. I had to make sure every blemish was covered and my cat eye looked professional- and all because I was too afraid Nate would call me a freak. I wasn't one of those girls that liked the natural look, but even I had to admit I looked almost clown-like with the amount of makeup I had put on my face. It was worth it though, so long as he wouldn't ridicule me for my appearance.

On my way to work and for the first hour I was there I thought everything would've gone smoothly- Nate would show up a little after me, we would've ignored each other, and I wouldn't die from him making fun of me for being a weirdo. But now it was five o'clock, three hours after Nate and I were supposed to start work today, and I was working alone as customers I've never even seen before came through the doors. Instead of the average four people that came to Trax a day, there's already been at least 25 people buying albums and asking for me to play some and asking me to get some from storage and knocking over shelves and complaining that we didn't have what they wanted.

By the time things had finally gotten back to normal and the store was its usual empty self, I had sweat dried in my frizzed-up hair, my clothes were all wrinkled, and my makeup was messed up from the numerous times I had to wipe my face from stress. I had to put my hair up, which I hated because I thought it made me look weird, and I had to take my contacts out and put my glasses on after dust had fallen off a shelf and into my eyes when I was in the back storage room. Basically, I looked like the complete opposite of what I wanted to look like today, and all I could hope for was that Nate just wouldn't show up at all instead of showing up late.

I had one of Radiohead's albums spinning as I was standing behind the desk, marking down the sales we'd had over the past few hours, when I heard the familiar sound of a door creaking and the rattle of bells following it. Figuring it was just another customer, I stayed where I was and continued to make notes of the purchases.

Except knowing how my life never worked the way I wanted it to, there was the pungent scent of cigarettes filling the air of the warehouse. It was one of those scents that were distinct, and surprisingly I wasn't effected by the smell- in fact I almost found a comfort in it- but if Fulton were to show up and saw i let someone smoke in here my head would be chopped off and thrown into the dumpster right outside. Though when I looked up from my work to tell the person to get out, I was met by the very person that I wished would never actually find it in himself to enter through the doors.

"Listening to Radiohead? Rather dreary don't you think?" His deep voice was like liquid, so fluid as it cut through the music in the air. Probably seeing my stern look, he took one final drag from his cigarette, breathing out a breathe of smoke to pollute the fresh air of the store and then dropped it to the old wooden floorboards, his boot crushing the embers and turning it to dust under the leather.