Like a Boss.

Now that I'm working at The Company, I've decided to step up my game a bit in the clothing department. I don't want to brag, but basically I make the cover models on GQ look like dirty hobos. Is this a bus, Jake Gyllenhaal? Because I just took you to school! Yesterday, I wore a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt that I purchased at Nordstroms. Admiring my reflection in a pool of water, I realized that I required more of these outfits. I was crushed to find that the store had just recently been ravaged by a two week sale, and no longer had a full supply of shirts.

Sales Rep: We sent all our remaining inventory to the Nordstrom Rack.
Me: The what?
Sales Rep: The Nordstrom Rack. It's just around the corner.
Me: What is this "Nordstrom Rack" that you speak of?
Sales Rep: It's our clearance store.
Me: (aghast) Ew.

But desperate to flush out my wardrobe, I went to "the Rack" anyways. Once there, I was shocked to discover that my outfit seemed very similar to the apparel worn by the help. Apparently, other patrons felt the same way. A guy with a gelled fo-hawk and a gold chain asked me, "Hey, do you have any Hugo Boss socks here?" I was confused about why he was talking to me, because I wasn't wearing a gold chain and their kind tend to stick together. "Oh," he said, realization dawning on his face. "Sorry, I thought you worked here."

Two thoughts flashed through my mind in that instant. First, why would someone be looking EXPLICITLY for Hugo Boss socks? That seems weirdly specific. And the second thought was that Hugo Boss socks sounded amazing. What was so special about them?! I needed a pair.

No. I needed EVERY pair.

My eyes narrowed at Gold-Chain Douchebag. "Stay the fuck away from the Hugo Boss socks," I growled in a low voice. Douchbag backed up a step. "You hear me?!" I continued, a crazed look in my wild eyes. "They're mine! You're in MY HOUSE BITCH!"