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Let’s be honest, you didn’t sign up for this job because you had a passion for girls’ accessories, or even because you were flamingly homosexual.
It’s because you visited the outlet mall one fateful day, just out to buy some kickass, comfy-as-fuck Lucky jeans. And because he was your cashier.
Jet black hair, a crooked but friendly smile, and a way of initiating sparkling conversation with you had you hooked.
One look and you knew you’d find a part-time job to be near him. You just never knew how near you could get without him being suspicious, so you settled for a job across the street from Lucky Brand Jeans.
And that job landed you here. In Claire’s. You come into contact with more pink than most men will pass by in their entire lives. You are a gladiator of the barrettes and a knight of the hair extensions. You also have become very versed in the latest of One Direction and Justin Bieber.
You are a Claire’s employee. And though you tell everyone who questions you—an attractive, high school blond kid known to have enough money to buy out the movie theater for your birthday—that it’s due to irony, but only your sister knows it’s because of him.
That annoyingly adorable Lucky cashier.
Hello, my name is: John.
John it is, and you hope by this small act of suffering on your part that you can learn more about him.