Written sometime between 2007-2010
In an annoying voice the person at the counter said, “We’re only hiring for cashiers.”
“Whatever,” I replied. It’s not hard to get a crappy job. It has it’s good and bad moments, but
mostly they’re bad; especially if you can’t compose yourself within the mess.
The way I see it, you’ve got to be able to see outside of the box, then you begin to understand
the context of it all, noticing how everyone has their own complex they’re working through.
Then finally, you’re so far out there that you know exactly what to do all the time because you
see how it all really is, you can see what everyone and everything need in order to survive and
be happy. Why couldn’t I just be a guru? I’ve got the insight.
So, I head into work and I’m pissed. Trivial fact about me is that in the morning I need about an
hour before I leave for anything, just to get ready. I have this problem of zoning out when I
wake up and my tea hasn’t settled into my bloodstream. I have a tendency to stare in any given
direction, daydreaming for about 5 minutes, eventually coming to realize that I’m standing in
my underwear in the kitchen with a pair of socks in my hand and a bowl of cold oatmeal sitting
on the counter. For whatever reason my mother had decided to wake up at 5:30. To me there is
no rational reason for it. She began to do minor chores around me as I scrambled to get my
lunch together. She moved my tea about 2 inches from it’s original position to place down
some plates and bowls. This may not seem like it’s a big deal, but when you spend 5 minutes
trying to figure out where the hell you put your tea, you probably would’ve been mad that
she’d gotten in the way. I tried not to cause too much of a scene and entered my room to settle
with some relaxing ocean music. Suddenly, coming through the walls was the sound of her
playing her own CD’s.
“What’s the fucking point,” I yelled in response. She seemed confused by my aggravation while
I was pissed, mumbling about what I thought was ironic, “of course she has to listen to her
music at 5:30am. THAT makes sense.”
Late in the evening I knew I should apologize for my behavior. Each time I tried that week she
was unavailable. The week continued to incubate frustration. One morning while I was showering, I heard mom leave her room and start putting dishes away from the dishwasher. This was unusual for her that early. “Uggg,” I grumbled. To myself I said, “Okay, I’m not going to get mad this time. I’m going to stay in control…Okay, deep breath.” Inhaling I stepped into the hallway only to see her scramble into her room and quickly shut the door as fast as a cricket scattering after the lights have turned on. ‘She’s afraid of getting in the way,’ I thought. “Oh, what a mess I’ve made.” After making my lunch I placed it in the refrigerator. I had completed everything so quickly this time that I had time to check my email. I sat in front of my laptop and filtered through spam and advertisements for Viagra. Eventually I came across an email from Leonard. A few months ago, Leonard and I had been flirting with each other, texting back and forth, and chatting online. We planned a date together for dinner and a movie. I showed up. He didn’t. I still went to see the movie, but the entire time I was so pissed. I couldn’t tell you what
happened. Leaving the theatre, I texted him first asking if he was alright. When he said he was I
then asked what had happened. He said he’d tell me another time. It took him 2 months to
confess that he had met someone else but was too afraid to tell me, fearing of hurting my
feelings. When I replied to this excuse, I explained how his lies were what had hurt me. I said I
could handle that he wasn’t interested, but the real issue was hiding the truth behind excuses
that eased his guilt and left me in the dark trying to figure out what happened, without a
courtesy of a cancelation. His response might be best described as a bobble-head doll, wobbling up and down, making noises that hold not resemblance of empathy. There was the chance to redeem himself, but instead he wasted our time composing his response that lacked what I would’ve considered a mature apology. “Whatever, it isn’t my job to make this boy a man,…or is it?”
I imagined what some Eastern guru might advise me in the form of a formal speech, exploring
some sentiment, telling me to help the blind, or some shit like that. I found myself considering
this pathetic soul who probably didn’t realize how offensive their silence was, and considered if
it’s my obligation not to get offended.
Why the hell does this always happen to me? Whatever the reason, if there is one, I continue to
go on because it seems better letting this moron go so I’m not missing an opportunity to be
asked out by someone willing to take me to an expensive restaurant. Unfortunately for me I’ve been waiting for the dinner reservation for quite some time. All the time attractive men come down my line at the grocery store, but many are accompanied by a female or a golden band. For moments when I think they’re available I wait for the words, “Hey, would you like to go to dinner sometime?” Instead, it often sounds like, “Hey, isn’t that on sale?”
“Of course, it is, why wouldn’t it be?”
As for the non-lifetime companions, commonly known as customers, rarely do I receive any sort
of feedback that acknowledges my talents of insight. You probably wouldn’t understand unless
you were a cashier. When I look at the groceries I’m about to pack, I consider the size, shape,
delicacy, potency, toxicity, and carefully organize the items in the minimal number of bags that
is convenient for the customer to carry out while not bruising their bananas or squishing their buns. Where things become complicated is despite all my efforts the customers rarely notice.
For instance, eggs. Have you ever taken notice of them when they’re stacked in the cooler?
Usually, they’re 4-5 high on top of one another. If you think about it, that’s actually a lot of weight on top of a single dozen sitting at the bottom. There’s no need to worry though. The design of the carton was constructed in such a way that the weight is distributed, never touching the eggs at all. Instead the Styrofoam or cardboard carton does all the work. You’d never know if you’ve never looked.
Most people though never look. The moment I put a loaf of bread atop of a dozen eggs the
customer frequently freaks out, yelling about how it’ll crack the eggs. I’ve thought about taking
the 20 minutes to explain the geometry, design, and architecture that has gone into creating
such a simple, yet highly functional carton; but with the way most customers complain, I just
repeat a mental mantra. Most people don’t think about geometry or physics. Instead they
assume I’m as big of an idiot as they are, only they’re not taking responsibility for it, suggesting
they’re superior and I’m a bad packer. They roll their eyes at my inability to read to read their
mind, while simultaneously huffing and puffing. This is the least of their crimes. Many times,
customers throw their groceries onto the belt without concern of where their toss lands. I kid
you not, many times I was inches away of getting smacked in the face by a box of Cheerios.
They laugh, “Ahahaha!” Oh, hilarious! Things usually go smoothly until their bread reaches the
scanner, squeezed between 2 boxes of Cheese-its. Annoyed at the condition of their carbs they
begin to aggressively grab their grocery bags, tossing them into the cart. It doesn’t matter if I’m
finished packing, they’ll grab anything in sight. They're concerned for what’s convenient for them.
Frustrated with advice from an imagined guru, frustrated with myself for mistreating my
mother, pissed at Lennord for being immature, hell! – pissed at men in general, frustrated with
having to work in a hostile environment; this does terrible things to man. Despite the
frustration, I still have to wake in the morning. Customers don’t avoid you just because you’re
cranky. If anything, it seems to attract them.
Do you remember when we were trees and we drank from the ground? Our bodies were still and we allowed life to grow upon us? We responded to light and conserved in the dark. You may ask where we're our thoughts, but it seems we didn't need them. Our destiny was to grow, bear fruit and seeds, and our breath made a home around us.
Walking to work. Passing the hospital. My feet on the sidewalk pavement moving towards my school. Two doctors walking side by side towards me, a wall of 2 men taking up the path. I yield to the dirt, my new sneakers gathering wet dust. Was it a choice or was I a victim to discourteous behavior. Which one of them forgot to share? I can't make up my mind if my act was choice or habit. Just the day before, a capable student asked me politely to tie his shoes. I leaned over approaching his laces. He pulled back laughing, "You was actually going to do it!" I told him, "It isn't beneath me."
There are days when God is unattainable; where we have met a boundary that we cannot penitrate, go over, go through, or ask for it to be removed. We become responsible to go around, honor its limits, and accept the work it demands. Sometimes we approach mountains without a shovel to dig through. Take my hand, and lets walk around together.
