Note to self: always carry a spare oversized t-shirt in case of truck stop

Since my next post is going purely vain and dealing not too subtly with the issues of vanity (it's a clip from my upcoming film/excuse to show off my new haircut) I figure I may as well post a related story. 

I am driving with Ari from Iowa City to Chicago to pick up Ben Rivers (name drop) from his international flight from the UK and we pass by this: 

So naturally we stop. 

Here's the scene: I'm in Iowa (midwest, baby), in the bathroom between the Starbucks and the McDonalds in the largest truck stop in the entire world sporting an ironic punk rock haircut, mini skirt and tights and red, patent leather mary janes.  

I'm standing around surrounded on three sides by mirrors waiting for Ari to finish washing her hands. Naturally, after sanding around for so long I decide to change my look. I'm going to wear my shirt tucked in rather than out from now on and proceed to make the switch. 

"Did I show you my new belt?" 

"Yeah, I saw it last night."

While Ari and I are talking (granted vapidly) a woman tries to squeeze by me and I move out of her way. I don't know why, perhaps it's because I'm standing in the center of a room fill of mirrors, or because I'm in the middle of tucking in my shirt, or because I'm a 23 year old girl, but I happen to glance in the mirror while side stepping around her. 

"Don't worry," The woman (jeans and sneakers) snaps at me,  "you're still pretty and skinny and look like a model. Very lucky." And stomps out.  

Ah! What? Why?

 

I hate discrimination.