Original subtitles

Synced & corrected by kinglouisxx www.addic7ed.com

Whoa! Watch it!

I'm doing business over here.

That's right. I want all of it.

Sorry about your theater.

We did a lot of good work here. Important work.

I think I'm gonna take that advertising job in Seattle.

- You can't. - Oh, fuck you, Kyle!

And fuck commedia dell'arte.

OMG, my sleeveless dress just got here, and it's purrfect.

Thank you, Nasty Gal.

Oh. New donations in the back.

As per our agreement, you have exactly ten minutes

to be the first to go through all of this.

Oh, and keep an eye out. Rebecca lost her retainer.

My palate is collapsing.

Whoo!

OMG! You're famous!

Check Daily Candy!

Yes! Ah! Ooh.

Oh, oh! Sophia!

That is me.

I am Sophia. They're in "lurve" with me!

What?

FashionBug20 called me a snout-nose bitch.

Oh, no, you printed out Internet comments?

You're never gonna be happy again.

I'm pretty sure it was a typo, and she meant snot-nosed bitch, but...

Okay. Look what BethLovesYarn has to say.

"This chick sells clothes from the '80s

and then has the nerve to pass them off as vintage.

Even Hitler wouldn't do that."

Wow. Strong take, BethLovesYarn.

You know, shit from the '80s is vintage to my customers.

And I think Hitler would do what I do in a second.

Yeah, okay. That argument needs to never leave this space, hmm?

Got it.

I get a little attention for smoking all the chumps,

then I get attacked for it?

Sophia, these attacks are good. They mean you're doing something right.

- They mean you're relevant. - No, but some of these are flat-out lies.

Like this Frederick dude who says, "She might be having a moment

but will never match the eBay success of a true vintage seller

like Remembrances."

Um, Frederick can have a moment

eating my dick.

- Feel better? - Mm-hm.

Did it help to eat a bunch of paper?

Here you go.

Put it in there. Oh.

- Missed it. - Yeah.

Remembrances.

You know, I outsell that podunk store all day every day.

Oh, can you just save my Sims?

Okay, look at this.

The middle of the summer,

who's gonna buy these long-ass pants with the thick fabric on the bottom?

I ain't got no time for bad pants.

Ooh.

Sophia's got her thinking face on.

What's she gonna do? What's her next move?

I'm gonna buy these long-ass pants.

Oop.

Hmm.

Can I help you?

Are you...

I'm sorry.

I haven't talked out loud today.

Are you Sophia?

That depends. Are you a murderer?

I am not a murderer. I'm Gail.

Gail.

I own Remembrances.

You bought a pair of pants from me.

Yes. Remembrances.

How weird. I've been talking about you.

I'd like to speak with you about the pants.

To see if I got them?

Gail, your customer service is astounding but fiscally irresponsible.

The thing is, I've already flipped those shorts for quite a profit.

Oh, I know.

I bought them.

Oh, yeah. Come on in.

Let's keep this thing going.

Hmm. So, this is where it happens.

Where you cut and desecrate beautiful vintage clothing.

Yup, this is it.

Hey, you want some bow-tie pasta?

I like mine with butter.

That's what a child eats.

Still delicious, Gail.

Ooh.

Hello, you.

I am a person who believes things should be handled face-to-face.

Hmm, that's an interesting belief for an online retailer.

I don't know if you are familiar with the Vintage Fashion Forum?

- No. - No.

Well, we pride ourselves on preserving and protecting vintage clothes.

And we feel that what you did violates our personal code of ethics.

Okay, what's the fine?

Am I gonna have to, like, polish up some old-timey telescope?

You went too far.

You should never have cut those pants.

I wouldn't do it if it was one of a kind. You know, I wouldn't cut couture.

It's cold comfort, Sophia.

If you wanted an altered version, you should've found a comparable fabric

and used it as a pattern.

And then, if you're like me,

you should have wrapped the original garment in acid-free paper,

put it in a box, and saved it for future generations to enjoy.

- No one would do that. - I do.

You shouldn't.

I just sat on a bus for nine hours, all the way from Reno,

to ask you to do better.

And if you wanna avoid making the forum angry,

you will.

Is it possible that you are just pissed

that I sold those shorts for three times what you got for them?

Mm-mm. No.

It's not about business.

You are erasing history.

It's definitely about business.

All right, we will have to agree to disagree.

No, I don't agree.

You don't agree that we have to agree to disagree?

I only agree to disagree.

I am straight-up disagreeable.

Good luck to you.

Sharon was right about you.

You are a snot-nosed bitch.

Knew it was a typo.

You're just not old enough to understand.

I feel sorry for you.

No.

Yo, Gail!

Oh. I thought you'd be halfway down the hall by now.

- I had to tie my shoe. - You cannot come here

and just shit on my business. You don't know anything about me.

All you know is what I eat for dinner six nights a week.

Look, I've always found the best way to understand someone

is to hear their story.

So...

maybe you'd like to tell me yours.

Why don't I show you instead?

Um...

Yeah.

Um...

Oh.

Wow. People are really expressing themselves in here.

Yeah.

The floor is very sticky.

It's very, very sticky.

See this girl over here in the lace romper?

In about 30 seconds, that zero she's with

is going to rank his favorite Monty Python movies,

completely drying up her vagina.

She is a customer.

Oh, all right. Over here.

Patent-leather platform boots.

Looks like she just moved here from Upstate New York.

Her name is probably Vanessa.

In about six months, she'll move back, because she is in way over her head.

Nessa is a customer.

Okay. This Janet Jackson-looking girl,

wearing a kimono on a Tuesday night like it's no big deal,

she's cool as fuck.

And you can bet your ass Kimono's a customer.

Boy. You love to cuss.

The point is, I alter clothes because I know what my customer wants.

Now, you may be trying to preserve old memories or whatever, that's fine,

but I'm helping women create new ones.

That's Nasty Gal.

So...

the Janet Jackson girl in the kimono,

technically, she would be Miss Jackson if you're Nasty...

Gal.

Was that a joke?

Wow. Gail made a joke.

- Yeah. - Yes, well...

You know, I actually don't get out to bars that often.

Shocker.

Let's get you a drink.

A thousand pardons. Excuse me.

Oh, gosh.

Oh, we touched skins. Skin.

Excuse me, I'm so sorry.

Excuse me. Pardon me.

- I'm so sorry. - Gail.

No one's around.

Yo, Dax!

I know you can hear me.

Stop doing that passive-aggressive bartender thing

where you pretend to not see someone shouting at you!

Dax!

Do not sass me tonight, Sophia. It is too damn crowded in here.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Dax, this is Gail. She comes from the Internet.

Gail, this is Dax, who's a big dumb boner-brain.

It's nice to meet you, and she's not my friend.

- She's not mine either. - Oh.

I like the cut of your jib. What can I get you?

Shot of Patrón Silver.

- Damn! - Girl came to play. Okay.

Make that two shots of Patty Sils.

Okay. No one calls it that.

Oh. Lady from the Internet goes hard.

I said I didn't get out to bars much. I didn't say I don't drink alone at home.

You really are an enigma.

Oh. Oh, is it dance time?

I didn't realize that it was dance time.

- Think it might be dance time. - Yeah. Okay.

You sure that's not too much spinning there, Gail?

No!

Okey-dokey.

All right. Not today, buddy.

Okay, I said, not today.

No, no, no.

All right. Seriously.

- Okay, move it. - Hyah!

She said, not today!

All of us in the forum are practically family even though we've never met.

I'm the matriarch, Betsy's the baby,

and Frederick, he's the black sheep.

Not literally black.

Although, he may be black, which would be great!

Who is this? Oh, what a puppy.

Oh, hi.

Oh, what a ruffer. What is your name?

Pancake.

Pancake.

Oh, you're the good ruffer. You're the good pupper.

Pancake, what did you see today?

Where have you been, Pancake? What do you eat?

Tell me what you eat?

Tell me who your friends are.

Are you going to see your friends right now? Oh.

Bye, Pancake.

Bye. Safe travels.

You like dogs, Gail?

- Oh. I wish I could have one. - Why can't you?

There'd be hair everywhere.

My garments have to come from a pet-and-smoke-free home.

Gail.

Get a dog.

Have a cigarette.

Oh, my goodness.

It's a 1940s debutante dream straight out of the window of Bonwit Teller.

How'd I miss that?

Oh! What I wouldn't give to keep this dress in a box,

wrapped up in paper for the rest of eternity.

It's so beautiful.

But by the time this place opens, I'll be on a bus back to Reno.

Probably stopped at a roadside Carl's Jr.

Oh, darn this life!

You want that dress?

I can get you that dress.

How?

Mobias, this is an emergency.

You have exactly ten minutes to get your ass down here and open up the store.

Oh. I don't wanna trouble anyone.

Why not? It's fun.

What the hell?

I'm a night bird. Let me fly.

- Do you live here? - Yes.

Just not very well.

Careful.

Oh. Look at you.

It's an honor to meet you.

I'm gonna call you Miss Fancy.

What's her deal?

- She's from Reno. - Oh, got it.

- Isn't it perfect? - I mean, I know what I'd do with it.

Nothing. You would do nothing with it.

A dress like this has a story.

Oh. It seems like you're about to tell it.

This once belonged to a young woman.

- Just try and picture her. - Oh, dear.

Violet Rothschild bought this dress one spring afternoon

while she was desperately missing her fiancé,

Private Oswald Chandler of the 101st Airborne Division.

While Violet was admiring her dress in the mirror of her small room

at a women's hotel on East 63rd Street,

she had no idea that her beloved Oswald

was dropping behind the beaches of Nazi-occupied France.

Every day that her fiancé was gone, Violet wondered:

"Will I ever see my sweet Oswald again?"

Of course she would.

Oswald returned home safely one year later.

And Violet greeted him at the airport with open arms,

wearing the dress she bought...

- on that spring afternoon. - Yeah.

And then it was all...

ka-bam, ka-bam, ka-bam

all night long. Ka-bam.

Well, they weren't married yet, Sophia. They were only engaged.

- Oh. So, probably just butt stuff, then? - Mm.

- Oh, no. - Calm down.

There's been butt stuff going on since before there were clothes.

Well, I thought your story was an evocative tale of yesteryear.

Thank you.

For all we know, that could have belonged to some crazy lady

who loved to set fires because it turned her on.

- Would you take 300 for it? - No.

I'll take two.

Deal.

Here are two crisp hundred-dollar bills.

I'm sorry, I have to do this.

You really don't.

- You have nice forearms. - Hmm.

He does?

- Yes. - Okay.

Mobias, where is it that you fall on the wide spectrum

of sexuality and possibilities?

Uh, not that it's any of your business, but typically,

in the small chance that I do feel anything,

I do enjoy the touch of a woman.

But if you're asking my preference, hmm,

that would be self-pleasure...

with a bowl of room-temperature...

- Got it. Glad I asked. Saved you, Gail. - Yes. Um...

- That does change some things. - Oh.

This may surprise you,

but I have over 600 episodes of The People's Court on tape.

That does...

not even surprise me a little bit.

Oh.

Someone special?

Yeah. Um...

This guy I'm seeing.

He's really nice.

Way nicer than I am.

I'm a pretty lucky girl.

Is this you getting personal?

I thought you were all totally business.

It's not about personal. Hold my calls.

- What are you doing? - It's a business voice.

Well, I think you are very nice

to let me stay here until the next bus leaves.

I could not have you wandering around the bus station late at night,

talking to strangers about World War II.

I would've managed.

Uh-uh.

You're weird, but you're not bus-station-at-night weird.

I just mean,

you have strong opinions about very specific things.

Oh, and you don't?

You're kind of taking the vintage stuff to the next level.

Hmm...

Gail, shit, you don't even want people to wear the clothes.

Well... sometimes clothes are all we have.

Huh?

Well, my mom died when I was just a baby.

So...

I don't have any, um... real memories of her.

So, the way I got to know her was through her closet

'cause my dad kept everything of hers,

which was a really good thing.

I would just spend hours in there,

just playing dress-up and...

I would see a skirt or a jacket,

and I would ask my dad, you know, "Where did she get this?

Can you remember the last time she wore it?

Was it her favorite?"

I was just full of questions, you know.

Usually, he couldn't remember...

which was hard for both of us.

So, I just started making up stories.

Sometimes I would share them...

and then, sometimes they were just for me.

I got pretty good at it.

My mom's clothes still smell like her.

I mean, I made sure to wrap them in acid-free paper and put them in a box.

Really works wonders.

Mm.

This is delicious, yo.

You know...

uh...

my mother wasn't around either.

She left when I was 12.

She took her clothes with her.

Where'd she go?

As far away from my dad as possible.

Energy 92.7 and we're on Wednesday-morning barf patrol!

Sophia, I'm glad we could finally agree to stop disagreeing.

Thanks for the new memories. I want you to have this.

Gail. PS, I've done butt stuff.

Ew.

Oh. Hello, dog.

You are dog, yes!

You're very dog, aren't you? Uh-huh.

Yes. I like you.

- What a nice dog... - Oh, no. No. Stay there.

Thank you. Okay. Good.

Where are your homecoming dresses? Shopping early.

If I'm gonna be stuck in high school hell, I should look good, right?

Good morning, friends. Good morning.

You can come in.

Good morning, friends.

You fucking bitch.