Metamorphin' Power Shoppers

Word of Resolution Three spread quickly, and those willing to lend their hand have stepped forward, first among them being Double D.  Needless to say, he was excited and thinking big.  "Time to jump right into the deep end, my friend."  The Internet quickly became his chalkboard as he began to school me in new concepts like "selvedge denim," "shawl collar cardigans," and "wingtip shoes." As all these new ideas went whizzing by, I felt a little overwhelmed.  Flashbacks of my engineering days reemerged in my mind--"What the hell have I gotten myself into!?"  It soon became clear that I was a deer caught in the bright headlights of modern mens fashion.  I politely suggested to the professor that perhaps starting off with the advanced lesson was a bit too ambitious.  How about we instead start at the shallow end, complete with little floatie things around my arms?

And so began an adventure to the outlet mall.  There are several in the Greater Los Angeles area, but the one Double D chose for my remedial lesson lies in a sleepy little town called Camarillo.  From what I could gather, the outlet mall is the focal point of the town.  Its claim to fame, perhaps?  The outlets are large, the entire complex taking up multiple strip malls and requiring a car to get from strip mall to strip mall.  If one were to be so bold as to go into every store, it would probably take a good week.  In any case, it's definitely a place of pilgrimage.  People had come from far and wide to partake in discount deals for misfit clothing, and Double D and I became part of this motley fellowship.

I should probably mention that I get bored of shopping very easily, which I realize is going to be somewhat of a handicap in accomplishing Resolution Three.  Double D does not suffer from this affliction.  So, as we'd bounce from store to store, I'd quickly have my fill and then sit around and do some people watching while Double D meticulously perused the racks.  Many of the pilgrims were pretty nondescript, but one really stood out to me, a tall, lanky fellow with pale skin and sandy blonde hair.  He was on a shopping binge of some sort, holding in each hand three or four bags, all from different stores.  He was also distressed, moving from store to store with an urgency more commonly seen in those looking for something recently lost.  What stood out more than anything, though, was his gait, left leg moving with left arm; right leg moving with right arm.  I found it unusual because we tend to walk with each arm in sync with the opposite leg.  The result was something reminiscent of a caveman.  Violent and brutish.   But oddly enough, when he spoke, he was very soft spoken and polite, at one point even apologizing to me profusely that his bags were hindering my ingress and egress.  The juxtaposition of the brutish and the submissive made for an odd pairing but showed the conflict raging in his soul.

I was dying to know what could torment this otherwise nondescript guy and fuel his shopping binge, but societal norms stopped me from making the inquiry.  My imagination quickly stepped in to fill in the blanks (perhaps a residual effect of my being an only child).  So here was this guy, Jeremiah Jebediah Johnson.  His friends call him "Jerry," so we'll do the same.  At one point we were in the same store, and I noticed him trying on clothes at an unsustainable pace.  I wanted to go over there and tell him to slow down a bit, but the frenzy in his eyes stopped me.  A wildness you might see in a starving beast.  Obviously something had taken hold of and infected his gentle spirit.  What could cause a good man to act in such a way?  It had to be a girl (I apologize in advance that my lack of imagination usually results in my people-watching scenarios revolving around dating).  Jerry must've just gotten out of a long term relationship.  Dumped most likely.  His girlfriend since high school had suddenly decided to move to New York.  Where she's headed, she can't afford to be weighed down by the past, much to Jerry's misfortune.  No room in the Big Apple for anything to remind her of Camarillo; a place she'd always been secretly ashamed of.  And that includes you, Jerry.  "But I could go with you. . ." 

As you may have guessed, Jerry's plea went unanswered.  As did all of his subsequent texts and long distance phone calls.  It doesn't take that many unreturned voicemails to hammer home a point--"It's over, Jerry."  Devastated, Jerry decided that what's good for the goose is good for the gander, so he'd forget this high-school-sweetheart-turned-big-city-harlot much like she forgot him.  She'll get wiped from his memory Eternal Sunshine style.  The surefire way to do that?  Change himself.  Leave that hapless sucker Jerry in the dustbin of the past and move forward as Jeremiah, the suave player extraordinaire. 

So here Jerry and I find ourselves in the same store in the same outlet mall with the same goal--transformation.  That makes us kindred spirits of sorts, but we were setting ourselves up to walk down two completely different paths.  Self improvement is my motivator; slow and steady my pace.  Jerry's pace is quicker, and his motivation comes from a much darker place.  I'm somewhat curious to see what his metamorphosis will yield, but have my concerns given that rage, despair, and spite are its incubators.  Will he leave the cocoon as Jeremiah the monarch butterfly; the Man that all women desire?  Or Triple J, the twisted demon seeking only to bed as many women as possible?

As I was writing the ending to Jerry's story in my mind, Double D tracked me down.  After telling him about Jerry, he responded with a quizzical, "Why are you sitting here stalking that guy, weirdo?"  I was going to go into more detail about Jerry's tale but thought better of it, what with Double D being much more of a pragmatist than me.  So I quickly gathered my wits and went back to the task at hand; my own little humble metamorphosis.  I left Camarillo with something called a "Harrington jacket," a purchase I'm definitely pleased with.  Double D assured me that next time he won't let me futz around in the shallow end, but we'll see.  I have an upcoming engagement with the Apothecary for another run at Resolution Three.  Much like Double D, she also subscribes to the "Deep End" approach, comparing the situation to a bandaid.  And what do we do with bandaids? 

"Rip that shit off, yo."

Yikes!

--KM

"I bomb atomically.  Socrates' philosophies and hypotheses can't define how I be droppin' these mockeries."