Frogger With My Life
The stream of customer's just finished. "Hey Steve, some idiot walked out of here without taking any of his change".
"How much is there?" replied Steve.
"$3.95" I said.
"Sounds like two coffees to me" said Steve.
"I like the way you think" I said.
It was 12:20pm, only twenty minutes after opening the store. Every Sunday the same thing: people line-up for 45 minutes to get beer.
Steve would usually say something like"Should I let these assholes in?"
"Yeah. Migh as well" is my usual reply.
Steve goes over and unlocks the door. The door opens. "Ding". There is something maddening about that audio cue. Everytime the door opens; "Ding!". Ding, someone is here; ding, pay attention to me; DING! The thought of being subjected to that kind of enviornment for any extended period of time makes me think of killing myself. The repetition of it is insane.
However, what I fear most about it is the thought that maybe someday I will get used to the 'ding' everytime the door opens. That will be the moment that I lose my sanity. I will no longer be able to tell the difference between work and non-work. My job will have taken over my life. I think some people when faced with monotony and lack of stimulation for long enough, they simply give up. I'm not sure how else to explain it. I can hear it most distinctly in the manager's voice. It is the easiest to pick up when he answers the phone. He'll pick up the phone, wait for a second, let out a faintly audioble "sigh" and say with a slight drawl that smacks of boredom "(mm)Beer Store, R* speaking".
"How do you take your coffee?" I say as I walk out the door.
"Cream and sweetener"answers Steve.
As I move closer to the door, the electronic eye picks-up my movement. The door automatically opens. Ding!
It's colder outside than it looks. I should have worn my jacket. The moment immediately made me think of the resentment that I felt towards my mother when I was a little kid. "Craig, it's cold outside. You're wearing your boots and your winter hat" she would say to me. Why didn't she understand that none of the cool kids did that. Fuck man, I just wanted to wear my beaten up Chicago White Sox baseball cap, not my stupid woolen hat with a dumb looking pom pom on the top. That was around the same time that I realized that what she didn't know, didn't kill her. So, when I felt that it was necessary, I would take the liberty of changing into my shoes on the way to school and put on that awsome black White Sox cap. Everyday that I didn't this I froze. She was almost always right when it came to those sorts of things. And now I think: she successfully made me think of those lessons years later. I still recognize their relevance. All I can say is "Well played".
I run across the street. It is a particularly dangerous strip of road. Crossing it makes me think of Bad Religion's Frogger because I am doing, essentially, the same thing. "I'm goin down the boulivard, playing frogger with my life. Frogger with my life! Frogger with my life!"
My mind is wandering like usual. As I walk on the far side of the street from the Beer Store, I am not very far from the Coffee Time. I think of the community and how being a Beer Store employee is an intergral part of the community. I think about how much I'd love to get this internship in the union. I think of the role of the UFCW in its greater historical context, and whether or not there is a revolutionary potential there. I quickly conclude that there presently is not one.
"Hi, can I have two large coffees please. One with one cream and sweetner the other black."
"No sugar?" inquired the attractive middle-aged Filipino girl on the other side of the counter.
"No sugar. Just black." I answer.
"How much is there?" replied Steve.
"$3.95" I said.
"Sounds like two coffees to me" said Steve.
"I like the way you think" I said.
It was 12:20pm, only twenty minutes after opening the store. Every Sunday the same thing: people line-up for 45 minutes to get beer.
Steve would usually say something like"Should I let these assholes in?"
"Yeah. Migh as well" is my usual reply.
Steve goes over and unlocks the door. The door opens. "Ding". There is something maddening about that audio cue. Everytime the door opens; "Ding!". Ding, someone is here; ding, pay attention to me; DING! The thought of being subjected to that kind of enviornment for any extended period of time makes me think of killing myself. The repetition of it is insane.
However, what I fear most about it is the thought that maybe someday I will get used to the 'ding' everytime the door opens. That will be the moment that I lose my sanity. I will no longer be able to tell the difference between work and non-work. My job will have taken over my life. I think some people when faced with monotony and lack of stimulation for long enough, they simply give up. I'm not sure how else to explain it. I can hear it most distinctly in the manager's voice. It is the easiest to pick up when he answers the phone. He'll pick up the phone, wait for a second, let out a faintly audioble "sigh" and say with a slight drawl that smacks of boredom "(mm)Beer Store, R* speaking".
"How do you take your coffee?" I say as I walk out the door.
"Cream and sweetener"answers Steve.
As I move closer to the door, the electronic eye picks-up my movement. The door automatically opens. Ding!
It's colder outside than it looks. I should have worn my jacket. The moment immediately made me think of the resentment that I felt towards my mother when I was a little kid. "Craig, it's cold outside. You're wearing your boots and your winter hat" she would say to me. Why didn't she understand that none of the cool kids did that. Fuck man, I just wanted to wear my beaten up Chicago White Sox baseball cap, not my stupid woolen hat with a dumb looking pom pom on the top. That was around the same time that I realized that what she didn't know, didn't kill her. So, when I felt that it was necessary, I would take the liberty of changing into my shoes on the way to school and put on that awsome black White Sox cap. Everyday that I didn't this I froze. She was almost always right when it came to those sorts of things. And now I think: she successfully made me think of those lessons years later. I still recognize their relevance. All I can say is "Well played".
I run across the street. It is a particularly dangerous strip of road. Crossing it makes me think of Bad Religion's Frogger because I am doing, essentially, the same thing. "I'm goin down the boulivard, playing frogger with my life. Frogger with my life! Frogger with my life!"
My mind is wandering like usual. As I walk on the far side of the street from the Beer Store, I am not very far from the Coffee Time. I think of the community and how being a Beer Store employee is an intergral part of the community. I think about how much I'd love to get this internship in the union. I think of the role of the UFCW in its greater historical context, and whether or not there is a revolutionary potential there. I quickly conclude that there presently is not one.
"Hi, can I have two large coffees please. One with one cream and sweetner the other black."
"No sugar?" inquired the attractive middle-aged Filipino girl on the other side of the counter.
"No sugar. Just black." I answer.
posted by Craig at 6:00 PM
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