ÜPS, I Did It Again

While I had planned to write daily updates of my life as a (wo)man in brown, I obviously didn't get around to it. I couldn't let this pun to go to waste, though, especially since it involves an umlaut.

But while we're here, I will offer you a little retrospective about the most fascinating part of my fleeting brush with employment: the UPS uniform.

The amazing thing about the brown outfit is that it can get you anywhere. The fact that I was able to wander around the supreme court library and attorney general's office without arousing suspicion is saying a lot because while I am a woman in my mid-twenties, I actually appear to be an adolescent male. And adolescent males are generally disrespectful punks that have no place in a large majority of civilized establishments. Given my love for hooded sweatshirts and androdgynizing hats, I often get those looks myself. Sometimes they are warranted, like when I am drunkenly kicking bales of hay under the fence at a public park at one in the morning. But usually it just pisses me off and consequently I end up acting like a surly teenager as well, like the other day when I went into Zak's to look for a Manchester-by-the-Sea shotglass. (I know, I doubt they exist, too. Like my mom said, it's Manchester, not Revere. But I thought it was worth a try.) I was followed by one of the cashiers who was trying to get my attention to tell me that I needed to leave my bag at the front. I forget exactly what he was calling me, but it was something that implied both age (young) and gender (male). It really pissed me off that he was wrong on both counts.

So basically I look like a hoodlum, and that was emphasized by the the baggy pullover, oversized men's pants, and beanie. But I'm in uniform, so no one calls security when they see me wandering around the marbled back rooms of the state capitol building. (Apparently not all uniforms have this effect, though, i.e. the AmeriCorps sweatshirt ;). In the brown UPS clothes, I'm fresh out of high school, gainfully employed in a respectable profession unlike my unruly peers. White-haired security guards call me "young man" in a way that I wouldn't have been surprised if they pressed a nickel in my palm and told me to buy a Coke.

I will hopefully have pictures in the near future (as soon as I finish the roll of film-- remember those days?), but until then if you want an image the closest I can give you is from the movie White Christmas, when the women dress up in fake military uniforms and sing "Gee, I wish I was back in the army." With baggier pants.