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I’ve come across a news story that, in itself, is nothing unusual: a man has been sentenced to jail for dressing like a female elf and stealing lingerie at knifepoint. He argued that he was involved in a “futuristic fantasy role-playing game,” which led him to assume a character – named, of course, “Buho” – at the time of the robbery.
It’s a tale as old as Father Time. But enough about John McCain.
What may actually surprise you about this story, is that I have been involved in a similar role-playing game. Don’t worry, I wasn’t as nutty as that dude; I picked a much cooler pseudonym. My lingerie fantasyland of choice? Victoria’s Secret – where, I should add, the only real secret is that a Miracle Satin Skin Biofit Body by Victoria and Her Engineering Crew™®©
does not instantly turn your body into Adriana Lima’s, no matter how much you suck it in and up and over, and Photoshop it before you send it to your alma mater’s alumni magazine. Or, um, so my mom tells me.
Yes, for about a three-month period, or the average length of a Pamela Anderson marriage, I would adopt the identity of my alter ego, the much more cleverly named “Uhno,” when entering The Land of Thongs (also known in scientific circles as “Atomic Wedgie Torture Devices”).
A typical conversation between a VS saleswoman and Uhno after placing exactly one toe in the store:
SALESWOMAN: May I measure you for your bra size?
ME, er… I mean, UHNO: Uh, no.
SALESWOMAN: Are you looking for anything in particular?
UHNO: Uh, no.
SALESWOMAN: Would you like to apply for an Angels’ credit card today?
UHNO: Uh, no.
SALESWOMAN: Do you know what bra size you are?
UHNO: Uh, no.
SALESWOMAN: Then you WILL need to be measured!
Damn, foiled again.
RUN BEFORE THE MEASURING TAPE HITS YOUR BREASTS!
Desperate to pay $52 for a bra so I couldn’t afford lunch for a week, Uhno and I tried a variety of tactics to infiltrate the store without encountering those saleswomen as aggressive as James Woods looking for a date at cheerleading camp. However, nothing worked – not even hiding behind a Shaq-sized cardboard cutout of Gisele or shooting the look of death normally reserved for my mom whenever she questions whether it really is healthy to get most of your daily nutrients from Guinness.
(Uh, duh! See Exhibit A: Those sprightly leprechauns.)
Okay, so I could have shed my Uhno character and simply told those salesdevils to leave me alone, or taken the more popular route of becoming a knife-wielding elf. But that would have been too easy. Instead, I decided to follow in the footsteps of fellow human rights pioneers such as Martin Luther King, Gandhi and Ganja Freedom Fighter Snoop Dogg, and stand up for my right to buy a hassle-free, overpriced bra the only way that felt right to me. The only way that courageously blazed a trail for other harassed customers.
I blame Santa. He pays his staff slave wages.
Bravo on this, it’s hilarious. You should be a newspaper columnist or something.
April 2nd, 2008 at 11:23 amAunt J hates Victoria’s Secret for that very reason!
April 2nd, 2008 at 9:42 pm