Cigarette In The Rain
(not justification for smoking, just the pleasantness of it)
*Flick Flick*
*Breathe In*
Flame sputtering against the wind, against the drips
*Breathe Out*
*Breathe In*
Ephemeral Fingertips at lips like a kiss from someone who knows how I like it
Pseudo-Sexual Touch: absorbed and ignored by the Public
*Breathe Out*
*Breathe In*
Letting Fire and Air and Death co-mingle inside me
Feel Earth at my back, eyelids heavy with Water
Semi-Sacred Rite: unsafe, unspecified, unspoken
*Breathe Out*
*Breathe In*
busywork for hands
*Breathe Out**Breathe In*
self-love and self-loathing at once
*BreatheOut**BreatheIn*
three minutes to think
*breatheout**breathein*
tiny ashy smudge as my mark
*Breathe Out*
An Altercation with my Manager
What I wanted to say in Italics
What I actually said in Bold
Sebastian, have you ever heard the saying "Appearance is everything?"
Only from really shallow people, so I can't say I've ever paid much attention. Don't worry, I'm sure everyone knows you can't possibly be this saccharine in real life.
*Struggles not to laugh, succeeds* I... I think so.
Well, when we walk by here and see you sitting in the aisle, we don't know what to think.
Or, apparently, how.
I'm not saying you're not stocking product or cutting boxes, it just looks bad.
I haven't said anything about your haircut, but to be honest, it doesn't look all that great either. What's your point?
*Blank expression*
I don't know if you've noticed that no one else really does that.
Considering that we work aisles by ourselves, I haven't had the opportunity to observe many of my coworkers' stylistic approaches to putting the excesses of capitalism onto shelves, but if you'd like, I can study the masters more carefully. One thing that I have noticed is that the cleaning staff doesn't speak a lot of English or have to clock in. Gee, I hope those are all documented workers. (Not really, I don't actually care. But it'd be nice if you were paying them at least minimum wage.) I've also noticed that you don't let us outside for breaks, and that that's a labor violation in some states, but unfortunately not here. I notice all kinds of things.
I can barely reach the bottom shelf or two without sitting, let alone organize things down there. My main concern is getting the crap onto the shelves where it belongs quickly and without hurting myself or damaging it. I didn't realize that bending over for your enjoyment was part of my job description. If you'd like to come back and talk to me about job performance please do so. You can save job aesthetics for someone that works when there are customers or that gets paid enough to care what you think when you look at them.
*Unpleasant silence*
So if you could please not do that in the future, that would be great.
What would be "great" would be if you could stop trying to justify your existence with these pointless little tidbits of "advice." A trained monkey could do your job, and that's to say nothing about mine. And by the way, condescension is best reserved for pets and your drooling offspring. It makes for lousy management technique. As you seem to be aspiring to be a lousy manager, keep up the good work.
Thanks for the tip.
I hate my job. Fifth of five days in a row tonight. If that bitch says jackshit to me tonight, it'll take the better part of a miracle to keep from snapping at her.
Only from really shallow people, so I can't say I've ever paid much attention. Don't worry, I'm sure everyone knows you can't possibly be this saccharine in real life.
*Struggles not to laugh, succeeds* I... I think so.
Well, when we walk by here and see you sitting in the aisle, we don't know what to think.
Or, apparently, how.
I'm not saying you're not stocking product or cutting boxes, it just looks bad.
I haven't said anything about your haircut, but to be honest, it doesn't look all that great either. What's your point?
*Blank expression*
I don't know if you've noticed that no one else really does that.
Considering that we work aisles by ourselves, I haven't had the opportunity to observe many of my coworkers' stylistic approaches to putting the excesses of capitalism onto shelves, but if you'd like, I can study the masters more carefully. One thing that I have noticed is that the cleaning staff doesn't speak a lot of English or have to clock in. Gee, I hope those are all documented workers. (Not really, I don't actually care. But it'd be nice if you were paying them at least minimum wage.) I've also noticed that you don't let us outside for breaks, and that that's a labor violation in some states, but unfortunately not here. I notice all kinds of things.
I can barely reach the bottom shelf or two without sitting, let alone organize things down there. My main concern is getting the crap onto the shelves where it belongs quickly and without hurting myself or damaging it. I didn't realize that bending over for your enjoyment was part of my job description. If you'd like to come back and talk to me about job performance please do so. You can save job aesthetics for someone that works when there are customers or that gets paid enough to care what you think when you look at them.
*Unpleasant silence*
So if you could please not do that in the future, that would be great.
What would be "great" would be if you could stop trying to justify your existence with these pointless little tidbits of "advice." A trained monkey could do your job, and that's to say nothing about mine. And by the way, condescension is best reserved for pets and your drooling offspring. It makes for lousy management technique. As you seem to be aspiring to be a lousy manager, keep up the good work.
Thanks for the tip.
I hate my job. Fifth of five days in a row tonight. If that bitch says jackshit to me tonight, it'll take the better part of a miracle to keep from snapping at her.
On Death
As unique as we are, or at least as we purport to be, many of us spend a remarkable amount of time avoiding the reality of the one commonality we all share: impermanence. Of course, seeking death is foolish, as dying is the last thing we ever do. However, all of the fear and fighting, the attempts to explain or obfuscate, is pointless. Death should be celebrated, not just as a mystical transition, if you believe in that sort of thing, but as the end of an era, when you step down from being responsible for your effect on the world and become a piece of it.
The Care and Feeding of Cats
If you know about cats in an off-hand sort of way, you've heard that they're picky eaters. There is some truth to that statement, in that many cats, when introduced to tastier-than-usual foods, will snub familiar and previously acceptable cuisine seemingly in hopes of holding out for the preferred treat again. I am similar in a number of areas of my life, but the one I'm thinking of in particular is dating. In more formative years, I got extraordinarily lucky and I find myself unenamoured of anyone that strikes me as less than "spectacular", when I'm worth a "pretty damn good" at best. I'm entirely unwilling to "settle," both because I don't want to and it wouldn't be fair to try to force someone to live up to the yardstick of an old love. I forget sometimes that really good relationships, of all types, take a lot of time and effort to build all on their own. It's really hard for me to make an effort when I don't feel worthy enough to contact friends I already have. Even if I were to find a relatively good match, I'd be likely to wreck it, conciously or not. Unlike food, I can live without close companionship. I just find myself unsatisfied with my connections with people, but I have no idea where the change needs to be made. I took a test online recently that said I have a lower than average emotional intelligence. I don't know whether to buy it or not, but it would explain at least part of the reason why I get all choked up at sappy anime when the death of a loved one didn't cause me to shed a tear.
Well, that's all I've got time for. Stay tuned for me bitching more about my job, and the further unraveling of the collected thoughts of long hours of putting crap on shelves. If you're lucky, there'll be no more bad poetry.
