That girl had ninja skills.

According to Gentlemen's Quartlerly magazine, corduroy suit jackets are all the rage this fall season. As a slave to fashion, who am I to argue with them? Over the past few weeks I have scoured the internet in search of one of these beauties, only to find that a rave review by GQ causes astronimcal economic increases upon clothing. (> 120 $)

I broke from my slumber this morning on a mission. Sundays are for biscuits & gravy and thrift store shopping. After a half hours worth of thrifting, I found my prize(s). 2 old suit jackets of the corduroy persuasion. These jackets are choice and came in at the lofty price of 6 dollars each.

I am giddy.

I take my purchases to the register with a smile plastered upon my mug. As the checkout girl does her thing she says, "Look at this, this one has an ink tag attached to it". The ink tag is one of those anti theft devices that explodes if tampered with. My heart sank. The perfect jacket in my hands, only to get a big face full of shit.

From behind me a voice says,
"Go ahead and buy it. I'll help you take it off".

I turned to see a young punk girl with a careless look upon her face. At this point, for 6 dollars, it is worth it just to find out the outcome of this tale. I buy the jackets and sheepishly stand awaiting her to finish her transaction.

We walk to her car, she climbs in and unlocks the passenger door. I slide in not sure of what is about to take place. From under the seat she produces a screw driver and a pocket knife. Thirty seconds later the ink cartidge is thrown into the parking lot.

"It takes a little practice.", she says, as I pick my chin up off the floor.