I once had a six-hour layover in Newark, N.J.

That’s not even the scary part.

I was escorting my seven- and five-year-old nephews back from Vermont to North Carolina solo. I couldn’t smoke. The little one had a bladder infection and had to pee every 15 minutes.

Because the big one was “too big” to go into the “lady bathroom” with me, and there was no way in hell I’d let him stand outside it by himself, I had to make the choice to send them into the men’s room together. Every 15 minutes.

Every 15 minutes, despite the fact that they assured me they’d hold hands, go into a stall, scream really loud so I could hear if anyone talked to them, and wash their hands with soap, I stood on eggshells right by the entrance to that men’s room. Those two littles were my entire heart and I was terrified for their safety any time they were out of my sight.

It certainly never crossed my mind that a transgendered man would snatch them any more than it ever would that a transgendered woman would attack me in the lady bathroom. Because why would it?

2HB2 is not about protecting “our women and children,” as one N.C. elected official so adorably put it. It’s about discrimination, pure and simple. #wearenotthis #ncnative

In which my Sainted Southern Mother wins the Internet for the day

(Ranidaphobia is defined as “a morbid and irrational fear of frogs”)

Emailed my Sainted Southern Mother the following, under the subject line “Baby Steps”:

“Your son-in-law is in Iowa, so I did the trash and recycling. I opened the recycling bin and a nasty, eyeball-sucking-out tree frog was stuck to the inside.

“I was very brave, if your definition of brave is also squealing, banging on the outside of the bin to try to get it to leave, fetching a broom, coaxing it onto the broom, then squealing even louder while flinging the entire broom into the backyard.”

My Sainted Southern Mother immediately replied a single line: “How long did it take for the police to get there?”

Middle-school paparazzi

So I was minding my own business walking down Jones Street past the entrance to the natural science museum, where approximately eleventry hundred field trip kids were waiting to board activity busses back to their small towns in far-flung counties.

"Look! That lady has pink hair!!!" I heard them squeal as they started taking my picture. 

This. This was my punk-rock moment. This was where I was supposed to shoot double birds with a cigarette dangling from my lips.

But I didn't. I was very mature, because I hope one or more of those small-town kids saw me and aspired to move to Raleigh and be a weirdo, like I did on my own 8th-grade class trip.

How it all began

One Sunday when I was eight years old, I hemmed and hawed trying to get out of going to church and was not dressed when my Sainted Southern Mother and little sisters were ready to leave for Sunday school. 

"You make sure she gets dressed and is in that sanctuary when service begins," my mama hissed angrily at my daddy (who didn't have to go to church) while glaring directly at me.

Daddy let me just stomp around mad for a little while before laying down the law: "Go get dressed NOW!"

So I did. I put on an awesome outfit and immediately felt fierce and ready to be seen and admired after Daddy dropped me off. And when I walked into the proper Methodist church, past the grownups to the front pew where we kids had sit and behave, my SSM looked down at me from behind the organ she played and was horrified.

I was wearing one of my long, 1970s church dresses and my favorite white Converse.

Memory revival!

I was talking to my Sainted Southern Mother when the conversation turned, as conversations do, to Ray Stevens' "The Mississippi Squirrel Revival."

SSM told me the story of a fella who attended Wednesday night services at the Pentecostal church by her childhood home out in the country. He had a proclivity for getting his Holy Ghost on and running around the sanctuary.



One night, he got so taken by the spirit he ran right out the front door and jumped off the front steps. The two sleeping, unsuspecting hound dogs he landed on weren't particularly filled with Christian forgiveness.

I like to imagine being inside the sanctuary, hearing the dog yelps then snarling attack sounds and saying, "Somebody ought to go out there and check on Earl."

In which I learn a valuable beauty tip from a proper Southern lady

Today at the costume shop, a very well-outfitted, attractive, charming 70-something couple drove in from Kinston (a couple of hours away down east) to find her an outfit to wear at the benefit to celebrate the 100th anniversary of a children's home in Kinston, located in a Civil War-era house on 122 acres. She would be leading tours of the historic home and needed period-appropriate attire.

It's not unusual at all for us to help outfit doyennes from historical societies in a 100-mile radius for their celebrations, so I knew what I was doing. They both had limited mobility pains, so I brought the gentleman a stool to rest on while showing his wife different options to try on. When she stepped into the dressing room, he went with her to help dress and zip. I stood outside and she called out, in the most beautiful Southern accent people of that generation still have, "Honey? Do you mind coming in to help us?"

I stepped inside and immediately felt the palpable love and trust they had between them. We did this for three outfit changes and I fell more in love/charmed with her each time. She didn't even bat an eye at my blue hair and trusted my responses when she asked, "What do you think, young lady?" 

After we found the very perfect early-20th century dress that completely flattered her figure and color, I started writing their rental contract and chatting with them about the fundraiser and charity.

"I was seven years old when I arrived there," she said. "There were four of us and I was the oldest. We had a horrible home life before the state stepped in and got us out. I still remember how wonderful it felt to have my own bed and a place to put my clothes, and I had no real clothes of my own before.

"Everybody had chores, and mine was sweeping the dining hall. My little sister wasn't kindergarten age, but she still remembers her first job -- taking a pan of melted butter and brushing the toast for breakfast.

"We rotated chores every three months so everybody learned all the jobs it took to be grownups. Of course, at the end of each three months, we all got anxious about which jobs we'd get assigned next, because some were more fun than others."

She asked me if I was old enough to remember Nancy Drew. "Yes, ma'am," I replied. "I loved Nancy Drew!"

"We called ourselves the Nancy Drew gang. When we had laundry job after school, we had a set number of shirts we had to do. Honey, to this day, I can iron fast and well, because when we were done, we could take off and run. We'd cut through the cornfields so no one could see us and go right on down to the river!

"We alumni are getting older, but we're looking forward to getting together for the reunion and sock-hop. Spending money here is the least I can do, I'll tell anyone I would do cartwheels across America to give back to them for what they did for me."

I had hot tears streaming down my face. She dabbed at her own before saying, "You need to wear waterproof mascara, honey."

http://www.kennedyhome.org/

Costume Shop Chronicles, Vol. 2

That girl from Shallotte at that costume shop in Raleigh

(A little background: I spent 20 years in the corporate world as a communications hack before I just couldn't take the self-evaluations, staff meetings, team-building exercises, micromanagement and being surrounded by other people who suffered from the same profound sense of dread for one more second. Decided to take a break and got a great little part-time job in an eccentric costume shop and am loving life. These are my stories so far, as told via Facebook. See Vol. 1 here.)

4/24/13

How many customers or clients on the phone today told you, "I think I love you"? A woman who sounded about my age called the costume shop asking for a specific costume we don't carry for her kid's school project, so I told her about all the things we could do to trick something out to make it work. She said,"Yeah, I can do that. I'm crafty." "And you're just my type," I replied.#lovemyjob

4/28/13

I never in a million years thought I'd use the words, "great friend," "funniest person I've ever met" and "boss" to describe the same person... then I met Louie.

5/2/13

Today at the costume shop, a man came in to rent the scariest gorilla costume we could find. He and a bunch of other dads are going on a father-son camping trip with their 11- and 12-year olds in the mountains this weekend and have been telling the boys that bigfoot lives there. This dad is going to run by, out in the woods, and scare the holy crap out of them.#bestdadever

5/4/13

Hey, at least my writer's block finally cleared up

After I drink this liter of Pepe Lopez tequila and get back from my Silkwood shower at our local nuclear plant, I'm going to figure out where to place this line in the story of my day that's writing itself in my head right now:

"My co-worker and I worked desperately to engage and entertain the Norman-Rockwell-painting grandfather and two kids (seriously, the little boy had a baseball and mitt) to prevent them from turning around and seeing the middle-aged man walking around wearing only shirttails and the support hose and ballet slippers he brought with him, desperately trying to get us all to look at him for his own gratification."

5/5/13

A late-20-ish woman came into the costume yesterday looking for ideas for something to wear to a party themed, "Things that used to be cool."

"Just go as me, Sweetie," I replied. 

5/10/13

Today at work was so kick-ass I totally forgot to bitch about how hot it is outside.

5/11/13

A dull day at a costume shop is a million times more fun than corporate-sanctioned "fun day" in an office.

5/15/13

The simplest joys really do make everyday life fabulous. I strolled into the costume shop today with with my new "Electric Flamingo" 'do and was greeted with a big, boisterous, "Girl! I love your hair!" from the owner. (Can't believe I lasted as long as I did at my last corporate job...)

5/18/13

A guy came into the shop and asked about nerd costumes. In a great feat of restraint, I did not point out the fact that he was already wearing glasses and a Halo tee shirt.

5/22/13

The real-life version of Comic Book Guy came into the costume shop today. After complaining that our Chewbacca costume was not up to his standards after he'd spent the weekend practicing his Chewbacca sound effect for Animazement, he demanded to see Spartans. I pulled out the rack of Greek and Roman costumes and he sneered, "You seem to have misunderstood me, I was referring to Spartan from Halo."

5/23/13

A guy asked me if this is my real hair. "Yes," I replied, "but it's not my natural color."

5/23/13

A man came into the costume shop to rent a Batman costume for his Batman-comic obsessed son's surprise birthday party. We have several Batman incarnations, so I showed him all of them to make sure we got it exactly right. Otherwise, he said, his son would die of embarrassment in front of his friends.

"Even if he does," I assured the dad, "he will be telling this with his other 'awesome things my dad' did for me stories for the rest of his life." 

6/4/13

A 20-something guy came into the costume shop looking for something to wear to an 80s party with a $1,000 prize for best band costume. I pulled down the sign-board ace of spades card costume and told him to wear it, a fake facial wart, long black wig and sunglasses. He said, "I've never heard of Motörhead" and bought a mullet wig.

6/5/13

So the dude got on my first nerve by telling his friend, "This place is creepy. I would hate to be here after dark." He got on my last nerve by asking me, "Do you go home smelling like old clothes?" Yet somehow, in a great feat of restraint, I DID NOT ask in return, "Do you go home smelling like Summer's Eve or regular old water and vinegar?"

6/7/13

Today at the costume shop, a guy tried to banter with me by asking, "Were you born with purple hair?" I said, "No. It was green when I was born, but the treatments were successful." Louie howled laughing. The guy was trying to get us to switch phone companies and we were busy trying to get the hoops back into hoop skirts after cleaning them.

6/12/13

To entertain myself at the costume shop today, I took the discarded hair net from the wig I'd just sold and put it over my hair. Without missing a beat, my colleague, said, "Meat? You want a meat?" Easiest cheap and recognizable costume ever: K&W Cafeteria lady.

6/14/13

Working solo at the costume shop and rocking the old AC/DC. I really wish I was in a staff meeting or team-building exercise instead. Sucks for me. 

6/19/13

Other than the reality television crew shooting inside the store, it was a dull day at the costume shop.

6/24/13

I dressed the real-life version of Seth Galifianakis and he chastised me for not being active in the Order of the Eastern Star. 

6/28/13

I was in the middle lanes in front of Crabtree, almost all the way to work, when my large, unsweet tea exploded, completely soaking me. I got to the store, where a couple of customers were waiting for me to open. "Y'all gimme just a few minutes," I said. They were probably perplexed when I came back a couple minutes later, wearing a NASCAR driver's jumpsuit, but were polite enough not to ask.

6/29/13

Every once in a while, a random encounter with a stranger turns into a moment in time you will love forever. Today, a woman came into the shop with her autistic son, who loves history. As he was mesmerized with the medieval weapons, she talked (not chatted) with me. Before I even realized it, I'd told her my story of being in the corporate world before landing at the offbeat costume shop.

We talked for a while before they left and she said goodbye, then turned back in the doorway and said, "I'm glad you're enjoying your life." Didn't get her name, but I won't soon forget how much that meant to me.

7/10/13

I was working solo at the costume shop, answering customer emails, when a salesman came in and declared he was looking for business owners who love golf. I glanced briefly up from my typing and said, "And you are completely out of luck in here." He left.

7/18/13

A 60-something woman came into the costume shop in a last-ditch effort to find a lipstick similar to her beloved and now-discontinued shade. We don't stock lipstick in our theatrical makeup, but I spent 10 minutes making phone calls and helping her search the web for leads. I know all too well the trauma that comes after the discontinuation of a cosmetic product. RIP, Manic Panic Deadly Nightshade.

7/26/13

Long story short: The pervy exhibitionist formerly known only as "Mr. French" will no longer be coming into the costume shop and parading around in just his pantyhose in front of anyone -- most importantly children. Y'all can call me Chris Hansen.

7/27/13

A man whose profession is clowning was joking with me about my fear of clowns in the costume shop. "Sorry," I replied, "but you're all John Wayne Gacy to me."

7/31/13

Reason number 253 I love my job at the costume shop: In my last corporate job, framed motivational posters with lines like "Teamwork: Many hands, many minds, one goal" lined the walls. On the counter at the shop, we have a framed quote that reads, "I see you've set aside this time to humiliate yourself in public." It sits next to the one that reads, "No matter how much you cry, no matter how much you sigh, all sales are final 'til the day you die."

8/3/13

Two corporate types came into my beloved, family-owned and -operated costume shop and bought stuff for a training video. As one was paying, he asked if we gave corporate discounts. In a great feat of restraint, I did NOT roll my eyeballs all the way into the back of my head and say, "Bitch, please" OR say, "Corporations get enough discounts already." I got enough satisfaction smiling and saying, in my sweetest Brunswick County accent, "We sure don't" as I swiped his corporate card. #supportsmallbusinesses

8/7/13

A woman trying on a sexy pirate wench costume groused that it looked better in the photo on the packaging. I, in a great feat of restraint, did not reply, "Well, the model wearing it is 30 years younger than you and a model."

8/8/13

Just had a great hair-color conversation with a hilarious woman in the shop. I told her my natural color is North American Field Mouse. She replied, "Mine, too, girl, but in Tennessee, we call it Chicken Dookie Brown."

8/9/13

Reason number 740 I love my job at the costume shop: Louie said, "Girl, we've earned it today," and busted out the red Solo cups at 4:30.

8/24/13

A customer tried to haggle with me over a rental price and said, "Come on, have you ever watched Pawn Stars?" "Yep," I replied, "and I'm the old man." He laughed. 

Click here for Vol. 3.