A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE




BY RACHEL RENE BOYD


Okay, okay! Christmas is long gone, but I experienced a miracle (no I didn't
get a new bra). Try to imagine this scene with me. All within the same month I got
divorced, bought a BMW, a broken down house (I left candles burning when I wasn't
there in the hope of ... well, you know), and threw away close to $1,000 on riotous
and immoral living. December came and wham, it hit me. The bills came pouring in and
all I could get out of my wallet was a few moths (and one old condom that had worn
a ring in the leather). I had to get a second job. I chose a nice large department store
that begins with a K (no, not K-Mart, I was broke, not destitute). Training ended and I
got my first assignment. As a holiday hire I didn't get a particular department. I was
sent all over the store. This is what happened that first day on the floor. "We need
you to go down to Juniors," the manager said. "Sure, what's juniors?" I asked.
"Teen clothes and really slutty looking outfits," the manager replied. "Do you mind
being in a girl's department?" Mind being in a girl's department? Hell, I didn't mind being
in girls clothes. Of course, I didn't say that but you know my mind thought it. When I got
to the department I met the lady in charge and she felt bad that I was sent to Juniors. I
reassured her it was fine and that I didn't mind at all. My first job was to straighten up the
twelve racks of sale clothes. Twelve racks of teeny tops, see-through blouses, tights skirts,
marabou trim and slinky, slutty dresses. I was in drag heaven. I went to work with
a very distinct relish that few could've understood (although I know all of you do).
I was so into it that I didn't realize that I was growing warm and a tad sweaty.

The manager stopped by to see how I was doing. "Wow, you've done such a great job
but take it easy. It looks like you're working up a sweat," she said. "Huh? Oh, yeah, a
sweat. I guess I'm really into my work here and the heat's a little high in the store." Actually,
the heat was a little high, but it had nothing to do with the thermostat. I'd grab a silky,
form-fitting dress and slowly hang it on the hangar, the whole time trying to figure out
what the sale price minus my employee discount would be and just how good or
slutty I'd look in it. I found this one gray dress from XOXO that I knew I'd look drop
dead gorgeous in. I tucked it away where no one could find it (I did go back a few weeks
later and buy it along with a few tops and two fantastic skirts. One of them I have on
right now as I write). My few days in Juniors went very fast. Before I knew it I was over in
men's pants (I even had to wear them, too) and shirts. What a drag! (Actually what a
non-drag). One day another manager grabbed me. "We need you over in intimate
apparel." I started to salivate. All those bras, panties and silky jammies just waiting
for me to lovingly re-hang them. All that lace and silk just waiting for me to care for it
with hands that understood. We were about halfway there when another manager stopped
us and said they couldn't put me there. The reason? I was a man. I wanted to say,
"Trust me, I know more about those items than most of your women around here," but
I was afraid that if I said that they'd know and never put me in women's clothing
again (and name one of us who could stand not being in women's clothing ever again).

I did a few months at the store when HR wanted to know if I was ready for a regular
assignment. I didn't want one, but I said whatever was best for the company (I'm a
brown-nosing liar as well as a drag queen). She offered me men's pants (I hate men's
pants because it reminded me that I didn't have a skirt on). Fortunately, my work
schedule changed at job No. 1 and I had to decline the regular assignment in men's
pants (Can I get a hallelujah here?). Then just yesterday HR asked me to pick up a few
extra hours. They apologized that I had to be in women's dresses. Now, the
question is: Can I actually get into a woman's dress if I'm working in women's dresses?
Don't you think that's only fitting? I leaped at the chance. Shoot, I would've paid them
to be in women's dresses and sports outfits. I must admit that I wasn't that productive.
I kept slipping over to the sales racks and straightening them out. That's not the truth.
What I was doing was figuring out which ones would look good on me (of course,
it was all the expensive Jones of New York that seemed to catch my eye).
The night was coming to an end. I knew it would be months before I got back to women's
or juniors. I was making my last trip around the racks and sales floor. Tears were in my
eyes and a great sadness hung its black cloud over my head. Then I saw it:
a Ralph Lauren nautical design. It looked more like a navy uniform than anything
else. I had to have the navy blue with white trim outfit. It would bring my end in the
women's department to a joyful conclusion. Why? I think the answer is clear:
Who could resist a woman in uniform?