Whenever I go into stores nowadays, I find myself bellowing out whatever songs they are playing over the speakers, regardless of whether or not I know the song. This draws concerned looks from not only other customers, but from store employees, who probably can’t figure out why I would be so happy to be buying two apples for around $8.00.
This recent development in my behavior also worries me. I simultaneously feel like I should not be acting this way in public, that I am encouraging young, impressionable children who are tone deaf to become Broadway hopefuls, while also feeling that since I have started this trend, I am obligated by society to continue doing what I have started. I am THAT customer in Rite-Aid who sings to the Beach Boys while buying 4 boxes of Honey Bunches of Oats. I am THAT customer in Bloomingdales who sings “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” And I am THAT customer at Whole Foods who sings…Lord, I can’t remember. That song about organic foods? It doesn’t really matter WHAT the song is about, because if I don’t know the song very well, I make up for what I lack with my dancing. And when I dance in a store, it is a frantic wriggle and writhe through the produce, racks of clothes, socks, whathaveyou, fooling anyone who thinks I am not familiar with the song playing into believing I all I do in my spare time is try to reenact Beyonce music videos with my roommates. Which may or may not be true.
I blame what’s going on with me on my current surroundings. The holiday season just passed, which is particularly rough for me, and with the advent of shows like Glee and America’s Got Talent (I think that’s what it’s called?), I feel like I am laboring under the impression that ANYONE can sing or dance, if they just feel like it. And I’m not the only one: The street performer on Saturday evening in Times Square seemed to think his rendition of Marc Anthony classics called to be sung flat or sharp, but never in tune. This, along with the fact that last year I had failed Broadway artists coming at me from every whichway while I was living at 47th street, really set the stage for my failed singing debut.
There used to be two places in this city where I felt safe. One of those places was at C-Town, the grocery store closest to my apartment. This place specializes in two things: beef and hip hop music. This is a place I dread going to, because everything makes me feel so out of place. The shelves are so tall they touch the ceiling, there are lots of canned things, and I feel too scared to really bust out my moves because the aisles are about one foot wide, with the canned items that don’t fit on the 20 foot high shelves tottering precariously on top of each other throughout. The stage is definitely not large enough to hold me there.
The other place I used to feel safe was in the work place, ever since they got rid of that plastic ice skating rink, and along with it Sheryl Crow’s “Biggest Mistake” blaring over loudspeakers ever 10 minutes. But the week of Christmas someone in the visitor service or IT department decided it would be A Good Idea to play some Christmas classics over the museum-wide speakers, and I was left with shimmying through the Hall of Northwest-Coast Indians to “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” to an audience of 5th graders.
Happy New Year, everyone. Just let loose and enjoy life a little big.
