kethrai's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Good Omens It makes me unreasonably happy that there is a goth girl working at the toll booths at my commute. I first realized she was there this summer—on one of the horrible drives up to the show from hell. I pulled up to the booth, needing tokens, and there she was in all her gothy glory. Black hair down to her waist—check. Lacy black shirt over black tank top—check. Check. Long red fingernails—check. Bright red lipstick, black eyeliner—check. And a smile—definitely nonregulation for a goth, but a great smile. It’s not that I’ve ever lived in a truly liberal part of the country—New England, while not precisely conservative, is not exactly Cutting Edge—but I did live in parts of New England that were, shall we say, less practical. I know, I know. I don’t have a particularly exciting existence. I generally explain to folks from more exciting parts of the country that New England is like that—not much changes, and when something does, we tend to spend a chunk of time thinking about it. This is the country of navigation by ghostly landmarks. “Yeah, you take a right on that street where the JJ Newberry’s used to be?” The race memory is long, here, and five year old kids who weren’t even twinkles in a beer glass when the building succumbed to the wrecking ball can find their way by what used to be there. So yeah, any change is noted. (Small digression—while small changes are noticed, and commented on, it would occur to no one to pass judgement on such things. I’m not saying New England is prejudice free, per se, but we tend to hate people for making asses of themselves, not for anything as amorphous as lifestyle or skin color or any other ist or ism. We’re practical people. So long as you don’t do it in the street and scare the horses…or even if you do and no one gets hurt…or not hurt much….y’know, whatever. ) But there she is, in all her gothy glory on the toll booths. She's a charmer, with a smile and a hello and her impractical black and lacy togetherness. And as most drivers on the Spaulding Pike will agree, she adds something. Something impractical and young, something cheerful and happy, something that says "what the hell, long red fingernails in a toll booth might cheer somebody up", something...not like most of my days, lately. She inspires me to dress up a little. To stand out more. To be more of myself each morning for 20 seconds. I am rather unreasonably fond of her, I know. But just because the signs are small, doesn't mean that the world isn't changing, and I am coming back to myself again. 6:16 p.m. - 2002-09-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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