CHIBATRON

Ophelia Does Nay Give Advice…

Now, my latest post is something that I’ve been questioning for some time now. And that is: who qualifies to give advice? Possibly what prompted my latest angry inquisition came from something as facile as the post-love generation, 50s-something, gray-haired Starbucks barista. Going in for my daily dose of a Grande-non fat-iced Chai-light on the ice drink…I struck up a brief conversation about (what else do you talk to an aged hippie Starbucks employee about?) William S. Burroughs. One of her favorite authors, apparently. And having read two of his books, I considered myself well qualified to participate in such a discussion. Now, it being late afternoon, most  of the coffee drinkers were still sitting in their cubicles, giving this barista ample time to converse with me…switching the topic soon to my wardrobe decision of the day; which she deemed as “quite black”. Well.  I was caught slightly off-guard at this, because for the one thing I surely didn’t except for my personal style to be scoffed at by a Starbuck’s employee; and I also thought black never went out of style. ( And for the record: this woman also sported some sort of hairstyle that slightly resembled my Grandmother’s dog, Muffy, but maybe I’m just being bitter.)  But being a passive-aggressive seventeen year old, I looked at my pretend watch and made a break for it, leaving the Starbucks premise and our conversation behind.

Driving home, I reflected on this woman and decided not to let her footnoted commentary on my style bother me this time.  This woman prompted my overall animosity towards those who, for whatever reason, feel they are accredited to provide advice. Not only with this recovering hippie providing me with fashion tips, (as I would also not ask for what shampoo+conditioner combination she uses) I realize that  anything not dripping with the electrified color of her LSD experimentation would be considered ‘too black’.  But also, why should or would I take advice from a Birkenstock-and-sock wearing teacher telling me to take life seriously. (Life is a serious noun I agree…but it simply becomes an adjective when someone takes it upon themselves to keep their tootsies warm when they can simply turn down the A/C) Or even my favorite: the homeless man turning down my Menthol contribution because he doesn’t smoke that “cheap shit”. (I found them unopened on the ground ok?! And was trying to be a helpful samaritan doing a good dead for the needy.) So Chibatron reader, if you made it to the end of my pedantic tirade of the week; I simply want it to be known that:  thou shalt nay provide advice for thy who does nay ask. (And:  that I am back in black.)
Until next time,

Ophelia.