She’s an ugly American. One of those who elected Trump. The embodiment of what I don’t want to be seen as, but her type is frequently featured on the news channels.
She came in the X-ray center screaming. And apologizing. The girls behind the counter yell, “Not it!” after one glance. All but the last one goes away to pretend to file.
Then her shrill redneck ring tone on her pink sequined phone breaks her rant. Mid sentence- she answers it and has an inane and worthless conversation.
Her side; “Well that’s weird. Ya so strange. Really? Pink? Your pants pink? I have to deal with this X-ray. I’ve been sick so long.
They seem stupid. Bye. I love you. (Pause) I love you. (Pause). K — love you.”
She’s wearing a mismatched Harley Davidson sweat suit. Which tells me she has many. It’s drags on the floor, tattered and dirty. Her nails are Formica pink and long & sharp. It doesn’t suit her stubby fingers and precisely why she has a Vietnamese woman file them into this shape.
Her hair is an unnatural shade of blond pulled back in a glitter scrunchy. Her skin like an old saddle. Tanned and put away wet. Make-up is heavy. You can see the track marks on her cheeks. Lips are a hip shade of blue.
She goes back to her jeremiad. “Just why can’t I be seen now? I have pneumonia and a tanning appointment that I can’t miss.”
The girl wearing scrubs covered in puppies looks at her computer.
“I’m sorry ma’am — the machine is broken. Techs are working on it now.”
She Humphs. Hand on hip, pointing the pink blade at the poor girls throat, “When will it be done?”
The puppy Girl grins tightly. “We have no idea.”
Her phone broadcasts Jason Aldean, Dirt Road Anthem, she holds up her palm stopping the receptionists breath.
“These people are stupid. Yes, I’ll meet you at tanning. Oh really? That’s weird? I love you. (Pause). I said, I love you. (Pause). Please. Ok. (Humphs). Well. I love you.”
I think- Is she that insecure in being loved she must be reminded every hour?
Of course she is. Every item she wears carries a brand name on it. None of it matches. Just a capitalist billboard of worthlessness.
She goes back to berating the poor girl who I want to go buy chocolate cake for. I’m embarrassed to be in the same species with this creature.
As if she reads my thoughts — her head whips to my corner. She looks me toe to head. The disdain look at my make-up-less face and plain black dress is only seconded by my unruly red curls sprouting like medusa.
Sonorous iPhone breaks the spell. “Hello. Yes, I’m still here. Surrounded by imbeciles. Okay. I’m sorry. Yes. No. My appointment doesn’t matter. I’ll be right there. Get the pre-tan lotion. I’m leaving right now. I swear. Don’t be mad. I love you. (Pause). I love you. (Humphs). Bye.”
She shoots us all a look of disdain and storms out to her ugly American car.

