Through the corner of your eye you’re deviously keeping focus on the wall-sized prints of the underwear models. It’s okay. Nobody’s looking.
\nYeeeeeaaah, heheh. You nasty thing.<\/p>\n
The electric fusion music on the store’s overhead PA system switches to static. A “sales” associate is presumably about to tell the kitchen wares department that there is someone waiting on line two<\/em>. (There’s no one waiting on line one<\/em>. You know it’s a ploy to give the illusion of consumer popularity.) However, instead of words you expect – like “paging tammy” or “tammy, line two” or “get to the phone in wares tammy before I fire your ass” – you hear a tepid voice say “Code black.” then *click* and back to that part of the song where the electric organ is flailing off a cliff.<\/p>\n You’re still set on the underwear models, but now all the curves and the airbrushing lack priority. Code black, people. Code black. Why wasn’t it a normal color? Are the primary colors not good enough? Black isn’t even a color for crissakes.<\/p>\n Code black could mean Joey the toddler left a present next to the fragrances counter. It could also mean there’s a missile headed for your face.<\/p>\n This is serious business. Code BLACK, man! You experience a surge of adrenaline. Shit is going down<\/em>. Or it is about <\/em>to go down.<\/p>\n …<\/p>\n Something is definitely going to move from a position of higher elevation to a position of lower elevation.<\/p>\n You check your cart. If the world is about to end, are you really going to need that candy-stripe wrapping paper? Why the hell are people so selfish anyway? EXPERIENCE THE GIFT OF LIFE. Go wrap yourself.<\/p>\n In a skillfully calculated maneuver, you reach for the lonely roll of paper in your cart and launch it toward the ground like a flaming sack of crap.<\/p>\n That’s right. At least now you can say that in the final moments of your life you were a badass.<\/p>\n From the walkway to your left, a middle-aged sales associate (Tammy?) rolls forth a rickety wireframe presentation bin, sprouting out of which is a circus-like tree of black lingerie. A sign at the top of the tree advertises, “code black | new luxury underwear by michele blanc.”<\/p>\n Wait. wait. wait.<\/p>\n Isn’t blanc French for white?<\/p>\n ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<\/p>\n I’m B<\/strong><\/em>, the new editor for the lifestyle<\/em>, social<\/em>, and arts <\/em>sections of the StormEffect.com blog.<\/p>\n Come on, it can’t all be about science. If DowJones has taught us anything with its eerie “Human Element<\/a>” commercials, it’s that chemical elements are a cheap substitute for home-cooked prose. Who cares about hydrogen anyway?<\/p>\n My responsibilites around the blog also include improving content presentation (forthcoming graphic development), story-editing, grammar nazi-ing (when I feel like it), and working with E<\/strong><\/a> on feature stories.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Through the corner of your eye you’re deviously keeping focus on the wall-sized prints of the underwear models. It’s okay. Nobody’s looking. Yeeeeeaaah, heheh. You nasty thing. The electric fusion music on the store’s overhead PA system switches to static. A “sales” associate is presumably about to tell the kitchen wares department that there is … <\/p>\n
\n(Yes, you’re actually there to buy something.)<\/p>\n