Yesterday a girl ran headlong down the aisle at the Container Store, skidding to a halt about five inches from my belly.
She was maybe 17, a blue-eyed brunette dressed like a tree. (Typical glasslander costume: Nondescript fabric in grey, brown and moss, none too clean, shaggy so you’re not quite sure there’s a girl in there and a couple of holes thrown in for spice.) She took a deep breath and opened her mouth all the way back to her tonsils.
“TODD (last name withheld out of pity) IS A SCUM-SUCKING TOADBUTT ASSHOLE,” she screamed, loud enough for the shower curtains to vibrate in sympathy.
I blinked. “Uhm… thank you for sharing?”
While I’ve had some interesting encounters in Portland’s retail establishments, her fast lesson in Todd’s unfortunate proclivities ranks as one of the more unusual. I waited, smiling slightly, hoping to learn more of the hapless Todd.
She snorted. “He’s just all….” Then she blushed, and giggled. “He’s my boyfriend. We had a fight. Sorry.”
She turned, and ran back the way she came.