Chest throbbing, palms
dripping. I approach the neatly stacked
distressed denims in an array of shades; from charcoal to indigo, navy, cobalt,
slate to stone, all the way down to white-wash.
I seize as many as my already-overflowing, quaking arms can carry and
head to find the perfect grey t-shirt, even though I already own about
seventeen in varying heather tones. With
one of my jackets, I complete my signature look (once again); I update it for the
season. My collection of edgy leather,
or non-leather moto jackets include embroidered, studded, distressed,
blush-tones, grey suedes… the list is endless.
Purchasing for me is a sport.
There’s an excitement about creating a look that I cannot fathom every
growing tired of.
Selling is the same… I
start out more hesitant. Will I be
impressive? Will I represent my company
well? Do I know all of the answers? The profuse sweating continues. I am a walking paradox; simultaneously an introvert
and a character all stitched up in one. My
nerves splitting me at the seams and yet selling shares a comparable elation to
buying. There is an end result of
satisfaction. It’s a business and yet it
is also a contribution of merchandise that I am proud and contented to deliver.
These two worlds peaceably
coexist in my world, as one cannot thrive without the other. It’s the ying to my yang… or should I say, the
credit card to my wallet.
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