this is my moon

Oct 24th | 115 "There’s a convenience store around the corner from my apartment, that is really well known for it’s inexpensive Vietnamese tofu hoagies. And while I’ve never had one myself due to soy and gluten allergies, many of my friends sing the praises of what is apparently just about the best damn cheap vegan lunch in the city. No matter the time of day you are almost guaranteed to see a gaggle of punks around the counter waiting for their orders. If nothing else it makes for better people watching while I pick up toilet paper or an extra pack of envelopes. Today when I decided to run over in my Sunday morning lounge wear to grab a ginger ale and some snacks to enjoy while I worked, the store was actually a little less crowded than usual. It was pretty much just me and these two young guys waiting by the register with large packs who looked like they had just walked there straight off a train. I made my way to the back of the store and grabbed my drink but when I made my way back over to the counter I could overhear these two guys talking to each other in what I’m sure they thought was an inaudible whisper. They were talking about “the stupid hipster girl with like one patch that probably knew nothing about punk, and all the ‘stupid girly’ shit people try to mix with punk fashion, and why is she wearing sweat pants….” well it took me a minute to realize they were talking about what I was wearing. My face quickly turning bright pink in a mix of anger and annoyance. When I walked over to stand in line behind them, they stopped talking and set down their bags to get out money to pay for their orders. And what do you know, one of the kids is wearing a fucking back patch that I designed and printed. Any twinge of hurt feelings I had quickly melted into rage. It’s not typical for me to be confrontational, I have a hard enough time doing it with friends let alone strangers. But when they were still sitting with their dog on the sidewalk when I left the store it just sort of came bursting out of my mouth “You know I could hear everything you were saying about me in there, it’s not a very big store.” They both just sort of stared at me their mouths hanging halfway open awkwardly. “You know what, I’M NOT GOING TO FEEL BAD THAT I’M NOT DRESSED TO THE NINES FOR THE APOCALYPSE WHEN I RUN ERRANDS A HALF BLOCK FROM MY APARTMENT. ” I pointed at the guy wearing my back patch “That backpatch you’re wearing, that’s my artwork and I printed it up the street from here, and if you can’t deal with the fact that a ‘girly punk’ made it I will gladly refund your money right now because I would rather give you your six bucks back than know that somewhere there’s a elitist, misogynistic, judgmental asshole wearing something that I lovingly created.” They both just sort of stammered and stared some more. I walked away feeling much, much better knowing that I stood up for myself and said something. I really hope that kid never wears my shirt again, or at least whenever he does he thinks twice before he goes around judging strangers. I guess what I’m saying is if you’re an asshole who thinks they can judge someone’s merit by what they are wearing, I don’t want your money."
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landlocked in bodies that don’t keep:

fuck yeah girl. i used to play shows just a couple blocks from there, at danger danger gallery! also, do you know about philly stands up by any chance? they’re a rad transformative justice group (for dealing with punx of an even worse stripe than the assholes you so righteously reprimanded) that’s based in houses all around baltimore ave. they’re rad, check ‘em out if haven’t already!