My Body in a T-shirt

I wonder if the clerk who works the return desk at Target wants to say something when they see me coming back with an article of clothing. I am aware that they have dressing rooms. Or rather, dressing cubicles. Unattractive and uninviting cubicles with bad lighting. To gain access I have to ask for a plastic card with a number that corresponds with the articles of clothing I have and they better match when I come out. There are signs on the walls by the mirrors, assuming my criminal intent. Reminding me that there are cameras. I’m being observed to see if I’ll take a t-shirt that cost eight dollars. But this is why I often visit the clerk who works the return desk. I’m not shy. But my body is not for random observation. My unclothed self is not available at that level to help Target realize their loss prevention goals. My body is mine.


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