Waxing Nostalgic on Sunday

I came across this image of the old Cobb Center, which was all we had before the mega-mall phenomenon. I grew up shopping at its Woolworth's, which had a diner and a pet department with goldfish and parakeets. For really special occasions, we bought dresses at the anchor store, Rich's, pictured above.

When I was a teen, I worked there at a clothing store named Saul's, which sold women's and men's clothes. Saul's catered to the Polident crowd and had the biggest Sansabelt slacks selection north of the panhandle. I was one of about ten 16-19-year-olds they employed, and we were managed by a handful of housemothers in cat-eye glasses and sweater sets. Further up the totem pole was Mr. Warbell, a stern-looking middle-aged man whose dour expressions inspired us to see how much we could get away with.

We acted like a bunch of rowdy cousins, sneaking around behind the racks, sticking each other with push pins, and messing up each other's stations. We were always getting fired and rehired. We partied together, went to the beach, and dated each other until we split up to go to college. One of the boys, a beautiful blond I used to go parking with (necking only) by the lake, went to UGA like I did, but he ended up being a cheerleader and all that implies. (And I'd always thought he was scared to "do it.")

My friend Ann, whom I'd grown up with, got me the job at Saul's. She also convinced me to use her hair stylist, Mr. Lee, at the mall salon. Mr. Lee was kind enough to stay open late for us, so we'd go after work and be the only two clients in the shop. He always made us scoot forward in the chair and stood right between our legs to cut. He also had to measure an important hairstyle angle distance by placing his thumbs on our nipples.

We discussed his methodology, Ann and I, but decided he was like a doctor, so it was okay. A little less okay was the good-bye kiss he gave each of us, trying to slip us tongue. I swear, if my girls were as stupid as Ann and I were, I'd beat their meager brains out. Then I'd go kill me a pervert. Our hair looked great, though.


M. RuPere said...

award-winning short story material - don't waste it here, lol

Tania Rochelle said...

Short stories require too much energy and imagination, Rupert.

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