Maybe we can make a deal, maybe together we can go somewhere.
Saturday job at Monsoon...Circa 1988…channelling Winoma Ryder a la Beattle Juice.
Jump off at Sloane Square tube...running late as usual....takes about 7 mins to leg it down the Kings Road... cross before Peter Jones....don't want to run into someone else's mum.
Black docs, Black tights, black jumper with holes and ginormous granddad coat that I got at Ken Market…masses of black eye liner and expected scowl on my face.
Walk passed Chelsea Pensioners and the gritty punks loitering...heart racing.. feeling insecure... one of them stops me for a fag...dig for Zippo and light it.. he turns his head to one side because of huge red spiky mohawk… act cool.. mostly relieved he got it on first attempt.
Dash into sandwich shop to pick up a huge egg salad sandwich the size of a door stop...will split it with Frankie...I like her, despite the fact that she looks like Kate Moss and could probably do with eating more than half a sandwich.
Arrive, just passed 10...throw coat in tiny closet.. press play on cassette... compare weeks at uni... she's doing a foundation year at Saint Martin's.
Have to put on fucking jewelry incase someone from HQ comes in...look utterly stupid... wooden African earnings, Malaysian bangles, Indian silk scarf…obvs over accessorized in shop paraphernalia.. not to mention verging on inappropriate cultural appropriation... always looks better on her.
Who cares.... get high in coat closet... come back out and start adding prices with gun thingy...love the ka-chunk sound every time.. start to get tangled up in stickers… get the giggles.
Switch with Frankie...love using the register....especially the swipey credit card thingy...wielding loadsa power when have to call bank for credit authorization... despite getting tangled up in phone chord... feeling v. authoritative boss lady.
No customers...time for a fag...go outside...take out a Marlborough red.. someone asks for the time...look up... it’s Bob Geldof...look at my wrist and tell him it’s 11.30… he replies, “fanks” and walks away...look back at my wrist...not actually wearing a watch, just a zillion bangles...whatever...only five and a half hours to go.