A Ray of Sunshine

One fine day I decided to move to Italy. Once I had secured a paying gig over there in the land of Michelangelo and gelato, I knew I had to start saving the scratch bigtime. I decided that in addition to working full time at the gear shop, I had to secure a weekend part time gig that would pad the bank account.

But what to do? Where would I fit in? Here I was, working 40 hours a week with a staff 90% male, a staff that was comprised of peeps that like myself, lived and breathed the dirty rawk.

So what did I end up doing part time?

Selling makeup and beauty products. Yes. Working alongside the kind of females that defined the term girlie-girl. The shop was also located in the snooty part of town, Toronto's answer to Rodeo Drive. If indeed the Devil wears Prada, he/she definitely shopped in this area when spending time in the Great White North.

So here I was working seven days a week, living a double life that soon screamed, "Identity Crisis"! You try selling a Boss Metal Zone pedal to a rank smelling guy named Rufus with stains of dubious origin on his Celtic Frost t-shirt and then shifting over to selling matte foundation #3 in ivory to an over perfumed trophy wife who considered shopping a recreational sport. About as easy as playing "Stairway to Heaven" while wearing glamour length Lee Press On Nails. My life soon became "Hairway to Heaven". Overpriced shampoos and conditioners on Saturday and Sunday. Overrated effects pedals that looked cool but offered little sonic versatility on Monday to Friday.

But I did adapt. In fact I soon got a kick out of dealing with such a wide and diverse range of customer profile and personality.

One Saturday at the beauty shop I helped this very cool guy buy some aromatherapy oils. The kind you put in an oil burner and light up. He had an accent and a very dynamic and charismatic way about him. And he was buff. Not extraordinarily tall but solid. Pleasant and well mannered. The kind of dream customer that makes your day.

I rang him up and bid him a great day. I liked the fact that he was a gent into the whole scented oil deal. Real men like aromatherapy. Fact.

After he had left, my manager came over and asked, "You know who that was don't you?"

I laughed and said, "The man who got away". I think I sighed for effect.

She grinned and identified the hot guy, who had with his oil fetish, slippity-slipped through my fingers.

"Darth Maul".

Yep. The Maulster. Ray Park. He was in town filming X-Men. Was apparently a regular customer who normally came in during the week days to secure his hit of fragrance.

Aha! Suddenly the beauty gig had redeemed itself.

For all you Canadians out there, I just would like to say I sold some big bottles of body wash to Tie Domi, retired enforcer and fighting machine for the Toronto Maple Leafs. He had big scars running through both of his eyebrows and he bought, what I thought was the perfect scent for him.



Oceanus. Oce-ANUS.

Just kidding, Tie...

currently listening to: Archer Prewitt, White Sky