Universally Speaking

Another teadious and gloomy day at the record store. My manager was leaning on the counter behind the check out desk, picking at a dried coffee stain on the grimy counter. Yep. Smell's like home. The walls were dripping with boredom, and the records were barely standing at attention. This day couldn't have been more suicidal.

The tinkling of the bell about the entrance woke me from my trance upon the clock. A tall slim man, or rather boy, swaggered in, with long gorgeous brown hair,tan skin, expressive brown eyes, and romantic lips, wearing a rather tight Nirvana T shirt and surf shorts. His strong tattooed arms were almost bursting out of the sleeves. It had been a while since someone had walked into the store and caught my attention. Several other taught men walked in behind him. I immediately made the conclusion they were just another band, and went back to picking at the ramones stickers on the cash register.

I kept glancing up like a hormone driven teenager, watching which genres of music the long haired boy was driven to. I didn't recognize him, but he moved around the store like it was his kitchen. Like he had been here before. "Excuse me, uh, miss?" He smirked and giggled to his buddies like the testosterone filled animal he appeared to be. Still, his voice, his request for my attention, sent shivers down my spine. I looked up, and placed an uniterrested glare on my face. When he met my eyes his smirk turned into something different. Something softer. "Uh. Heh, you don't happen to uh have any Germs do you?" He stuttered.

I raised one eyebrow "Excuse me?" I swung to one hip. I kew what he meant, but decided to test the waters. "Haha, um, I meant the band." I returned a smirk, and sauntered over to the section where the four boys stood, swinging my hips in the flirtatious manner I had practiced so many times before. It was then I realized how grateful I was of my clothing choice today: turquoise Dr. Martens, very short bleached cuttoffs, and my worn-to-pieces white metallica concert shirt. When getting dressed this morning, I had decided to go with black eyeliner on my top eye lids, and dark red lipstick. My hair was dripping to one side. I slipped in front of the attractive boy, and flipped my black nails through the records. I pulled out two Germs Albums, and plopped them in his hands. "Thanks" he said. His friends noticed his red cheeks and were laughing to themselves. I put my hands on my hips and shot emerald dangerous but soothing daggers with my eyes "4 bucks each. You want em?' I asked with a sly smile.

"Oh yeah. Totally." He said. there was a slight awkward silence. I scanned him closely, engraving his beautiful tattoos into my mind. "So, you uh, like Metallica?" he inquired. I hadn't really noticed that his eyes had drifted to the staggered letters on my C ish cup chest. "Yeah..." I said, letting him know I had caught him staring at what was underneath the letters. I turned my back to him and made my way back to the counter. I rang up the two records, and the boys followed like dogs. "Are you new? Can't say I've seen you working here before." He asked me. "No, I've worked here for about 3 months now." and yes, my carrier is going down the toilet thanks for asking. "I guess i haven't seen you. I come here pretty often." "Maybe you were looking, but not actually seeing." "Maybe... Oh by the way I'm Anthony," he said with a huge goofy smile "Anthony Kiedis, and this is Flea, Chad, and John" he pointed to the other members. "Legit." I said printing out his reciept. "Well, do you have a name?" He said cleverly. "Yeah," I paused. "It's Kat." "Well it was nice to meet you Kat. Looks like I have a new excuse to come here more often." For some crazy reason, I blushed at this comment.

I usually kept my cool with guys like him. He and his buddies walked out the door, and the bell tinkled again. Marvin, my manager, pushed his inch thick glasses to his face and blurted "Frisky boy." I glared him down and he walked straight to the men's room, escaping my fury. That's the luxury of attitude. No one messes with you. I looked back to the countes and it was then I noticed Anthony had left the two records on the counter. I contemplated running to the door and catching him, but realized that he'd be back. Sure enough, two minutes later, Anthony was back with that goofy smile on his face. "Forget something?" I said, handing him the records. "Yeah, guess I did." He looked down at the floor, then back to me. "So what does a cool chick like you do after work?"

"A cool chick like me? Oh she usually goes partying with friends, and has wild sex with random strangers. But me? I go home to my dog, drink coffee and read shitty romance novels." He sincerely laughed and scuffed his feet a bit. "Well, would you like to take a break from that lifestyle and come to our gig? Those guys that came in with me well, we're kinda, in a band, and it'd be cool if maybe you'd come check us out, you know? We're pretty good, I mean I think we're pretty good. Well I know I am, the other guys think they are, and we all just kinda..." I interrupted his excessive rambling "Sure. I'd like that. I'm always open to new music. What's your band called?" "We call ourselves the Red Hot Chili Peppers." I giggled inside at the rediculous but clever title. "It's down at this little bar, across the street. At seven." "Cool." I smiled. He smiled even bigger and walked out the door. Looks like my dog would be eating alone.