There's a Reason Part-time Clerks Leave After Four Hours.

In my short time as a courtesy clerk for my store, I've found that after working for about three-and a half hours, I start to direct all my thoughts toward the things that until this point, were only mild annoyances. About a minute after, those little hairs trapped in the nape of my neck transform into a super-itchy iron maiden that lingers on in spite of my manic scratching.  That cramp in my leg is now a mafia boss smashing my knee in a vice coated with rusty nails.  My managers evolve into genetic amalgamations of Hitler, Mussolini, Stalin, and Genghis Khan.  Even the costumers' simple questions feel like vocalized crowbars, slowly prying away at the nails of my psyche. There's a reason the four hour mark was unanimously dubbed the time to go on an hour lunch during a full shift, or go home to shovel leftover turkey burger in my mouth on part-time days.  Once three hours and thirty minutes of unbridled altruism and kindness have passed, most people have reached their capacity for this sort of crap, and with the only methods to refuel my tolerance being a chronological crawl away, my personality inevitably spirals downward with enough angular momentum to slice open a customer's chest cavity.

I don't think this feeling is unique to me either.  A number of coworkers I get along with share the sentiment, or at the very least, don't disagree when I come into the break room announcing "I'm itchy, I hate everything!"  I do know that some employees are generally rude, but for most of us, the only reason our happy face fell off right at the moment you came asking for help is merely the result of a common phenomenon where we're trying to be nicer than evolutionarily possible.

A story about a Void, and Flipping Hundreds of People the Bird

I’m not really known for doing much out of the ordinary other than the habits that people tell me aren’t quite that normal, but that night was a bit different- a night of getting a little lost, a tad bit scared, and ultimately feeling unstoppable for going in a circle.

            I started out the door for a run, hoping to find a new route in the waning sunlight.  The only thing on my mind was a collection of words from Matthew Inman’s book, “find a loop”.  I typically run here and back trails, smashing myself against the same invisible barriers for the same result, so this night I thought I’d find a loop.  The problem is that all the running trails I could’ve used for this purpose stop existing after six PM.  My loop would have to be in the city.  Nearing an intersection on the bee-line path I take from my house to the gym, I half considered abandoning the pursuit of the loop to squeeze my love handles back into my comfort zone.  

            But I just so happened to be on the side of the intersection that would require me to physically push a button to cross into the familiar monotony, so to keep from losing stride, I turned into the grassy trail on my left.  I sort of knew this side too, just not what was past the wooden end marker for the path I was on.

        The grass went on for maybe a mile.  The problem is that things are longer and infinitely scarier when you add night and blinding headlights into the mix.  Fortunately, stumbling through countless anthills along the trail eventually brought me to an intersection.  This is where I hoped my journey would loop back on itself, but between my chafing testicles and endorphin glazed mind, I decided to go a bit further, into more tall grass.  The lack of cars in this direction was a welcome surprise until I realized that having nothing is slightly worse than dozens of flash grenades careening towards my face at forty miles an hour.  I typically feel alone in large crowds, but there’s a certain sense of security that comes from knowing mountain lions and serial killers don’t attack people in groups.  Here, along this grassy strip of dirt, I was truly alone- shuffling along through the perfect spot for a lion/murderer tag team mauling.  I’ve never been able to accurately pin down what emotions I’m feeling at any given time since it seems that a good portion of them happen at once, but given the circumstances, I’m fairly sure I could describe what I was feeling as terror.  I’m assuming that’s the word for describing an overwhelming desire not to be mauled by two identical entities.  This would be cause to turn back.  It should be cause to turn back, but my logic/slash coward center simply couldn’t hold up against the desire to pierce what literally felt like the heart of darkness.  There was something else too; something a bit more real than a healthy fear of nocturnal predators.  Between heading onto the route to the left and where I eventually popped out, I was alone, but not the alone to which I was accustomed.  This time, I was the only entity that existed in that carless stretch of land I chose to travel.  This is the one time I felt separate from the universe that didn’t involve daydreaming where I wasn’t supposed to.  I found my way to a separate plane of existence, and all I wanted was to get out.  My first thought towards the solution was to turn back, but as afraid of the nothing that one part of my mind was, another wanted to see how far this void would go until death or an eventual other side made itself apparent.  I decided to make a compromise and go faster in the same direction.  Adventure brain would get what it wanted, and scared brain determined that the best course of action would be to shut up.  The agreed upon solution was the best it could hope for.  

             Fortunately, for both parties, an eventual end to this universe shone in the distance; an illuminated sign from my old high school.  I don’t recall the majority of the people or events that came from within that conglomerate of sheet-metal encased buildings.  What became truly important was that this place became the missing link in the loop I was trying to conceive.  Through the fear and sweat and second guesses, I created a loop.  I knew exactly what to do from this point, uniting my fragmented thoughts into a single amorphous blob of aimless, illusory power.  It had to be dispelled through a more effective means than by trotting back home.  The solution hit me as I approached the Mormon Church. This thing really did just hit me.  I usually reconsider and back down from things like this out of fear of someone I know judging me.  I started jogging past the in-session church, middle fingers outstretched, panting and sweating through the cloak of night like a pig being chased by starved Bengal tigers.  I had emerged from the void I created for myself.  I was all-powerful.  Better judgment couldn’t possibly hold up to the amount of fucks I felt were ready to be released.  On my last mile home, I kept my middle fingers up, thinking only of putting them down out of fear that they might stay that way- a thought put to rest when I said to myself “if my fingers get stuck like this, I’ll have legal protection to continue doing this followed by piles of disability money.  There was no counterpoint to this idiotic logic.  I was still in juggernaut land, so I went with it.

I’m fairly sure that despite the abundance of headlights, no one actually saw my proudly erect fingers on my steadily drooping arms.  Or if they did, I was immediately dismissed as a homeless man who recently acquired enough spare change to go on a crack-induced rampage.

Procrastination will Find a Way

So I saw this Ad on my way from the bank...

On my way from the UPS store after dropping off four pounds of dead rabbit when I spotted a flyer advertizing quick weight loss out of the corner of my eye.  On the flyer was something in Spanish that the makers of it translated, but I didn't feel like reading it.  What really caught my attention was a woman drawn in vectors, progressively shedding weight until she morphed into fifties barbie.

What really stood out though is that throughout the process of collapsing into a bodacious neutron star is that her facial expression stayed more or less the same.  No matter how much weight she lost, her insecurity followed, clinging to every form, filling the space created by her continued advancement.  You can change as much as you like on the outside, but your still stuck with all those unsightly mental scars along with your love of cake.  If there's a cake you've been denying yourself, eat it right now.  Mental scars look better smothered in frosting.