Charlotte and the shot glass

Charlotte, the rocker woman who works at Hunt & Gather Antiques in South Minneapolis, has tattoos on her hands, tattoos on her arms and legs, and tattoos (I've imagined) that just a privileged few have seen. Her bottle-black hair is unselfconsciously mussy and perfectly complements her tattoos, torn leggings and Doc Martins. I think she's stunning. Unlike women who diminish their beauty with heavy makeup, Charlotte wears none. Unlike women wearing trendy, typical and altogether safe outfits, nothing about Charlotte seems safe.

H&G is as delightfully scruffy and exotic as Charlotte is. The store's selection of goods and the styling of the spaces is amazing. Best of all, every time I've visited, the music being played has rocked my world. It's quirky, groovy and piped into every nook and cranny of the big, two-level space. I've heard that some shoppers have complained that the music is too weird and loud. To them I'd say, "Bitch please, go to the Loft* across the street and leave H&G to sexy old rockers like Charlotte.

Occasionally, H&G hosts after-hours parties—killer events where wine and beer is served, great deals are to be had and the music is always banging. On one of these nights I found myself anxiously standing behind Charlotte. She was shopping as well as working and she was eying an object on a shelf. I'd spotted a killer shot glass on the same shelf and, like a vulture, I was waiting for her to move so I could pounce on my treasure. I feared she was going to make her own move on the shot glass. Finally she reached towards the shelf, her tattooed hand heading straight for the shot glass. Miracle of miracles, she grabbed a small rectangular tin that was next to the shot glass instead.

She'd only taken a small step back from the shelf when I shouldered my way in and grabbed the shot glass. Then, in front of the shelf, we smiled at each other and Charlotte asked what was written on the shot glass.

I showed it to her as I read aloud. On one side it said, "Calvert's Whiskey." On the other side it said, "Smoother Going Down!" Charlotte raised an eyebrow, dipped her chin in a sassy way, and said, "Oh, we have similar taste." She held up her tin and read the cover, in all caps it read, "CLIMAX."

More raising of eyebrows and sassy looks followed, hers and mine. Then Charlotte turned and walked in one direction and I turned and walked in another. For a short time I ignored the great H&G music and ran some little made-up song through my head. "Ooo yeah Charlotte, she took time and chatted with me. Ooo yeah Charlotte, she said stuff that was kinda naughty. Ooo yeah Charlotte, Ooo Ooo yeah, Charlotte!"

More beer was quaffed, more great music was played and I continued shopping. Eventually I ran into Charlotte again. We had to turn sideways to pass each other in the cramped H&G hallways. I raised my shot glass and eyebrows to Charlotte and said simply, "climax." She didn't miss a beat. She looked me in the eyes—Wednesday Adams all-grown-up style—and said. "Is that an order?"

Geezus! I stuttered, stammered, probably made awkward gestures and squeezed past Charlotte in the narrow hallway. If I'd had a small paper sack I would have done that hyper-ventilating thing.

I suspect that Charlotte knew full well how she'd devastated me. I suspect she knew I'd love it and that I was the kind of guy who could interact with her in this way with out crossing the creepy line. If I'm right about this, Charlotte has complimented me marvelously. I believe she and I both understand that sass is like medicine in the right doses.

How fortunate are people who appreciate such experiences. And how fortunate am I for my time with, and imaginations of, Charlotte. "Ooo yeah Charlotte, she took time and chatted with me. Ooo yeah Charlotte, she said stuff that was kinda naughty. "Ooo yeah Charlotte, Ooo Ooo yeah, Charlotte!"

* The Loft Antiques, across Xerxes Avenue from H&G, is really very nice.