Addiction
I was calculating it just an hour ago. If I work six days a week for 12 hours each day at seven dollars an hour I can make some amazing cash for someone my age. That comes out to five hundred and four dollars a week. One of my favorite hobbies as of late has been coming home after a long day of work, hopping online, and looking at how much I've earned and how much I can afford. Transferring...counting...this is why basic mathematics was always a blast because it had some real world application. Who could possibly care about something like calculus when it has nothing to do with a bank account?
When I first looked for a job, it had to meet certain requirements. It had to provide me the hours and preferably be paid under the table. This ensured that the greedy bastard, Uncle Sam, wouldn't steal a piece of what is rightfully mine. It was never his money and he shouldn't get a piece of it. I worked for it, not him.
My average day goes something like this: I wake up at 4:30 in the morning to head off to the restaurant where I am employed. It's a nice little place which provides the hours, which at this point in my life have become as necessary as food and water. Monday is always the easiest. You get up and are completely ready for a full day of work. Once wednesday rolls around, things get a little tricky: you begin to hit the snooze button and trick yourself into believing that you have a little more time to rest. If you're in denial too much, you end up getting fired because of the amount of times you were late and that isn't an option. What other employer would be willing to pay these hours and with these benefits? I need this so I eventually resorted to using my cell phone's alarm for early rising which thankfully doesn't have a snooze alarm and gives me an edge on all the competition at the diner.
But as I was saying: it gets harder. By saturday you want to roll over and die, but it's worth it. Who wouldn't want to be 500 dollars richer? Nobody, that's who, and no one respects a nobody.
The Diner is a war with two fronts: customer relations and employee relations. You've got to keep your cool and go with the flow a lot, but you can't be pushed around. This is a general rule for handling the competition. Being the "Go To" guy is especially important: take the jobs that no one else enjoys and really stand out. That's how you get the hours and that's how you get the money and raise. Always be kind to the competition when you can afford it and if you find you are being targeted be sure to find someone everyone can dislike together. The rumor-mill is the greatest weapon of any saavy worker.
The customers are another story. Bend over backwards to please them because a satisfied customer means a happy customer. Make them happy enough and it really helps your relations with the employer. Do onto others that which you would want done onto you...unless of course it's your competition. But it's crucial to establish a relationship early on, smile even if you don't give two shits, and greet them as if they were a God falling from the heavens to order a number two. If something is screwed up when you deliver the food to them, take a hit and offer a free entree because in the long run that will reflect on you and ultimately lead to that goal: more hours and more money.
II
12 Hours at work. Seven dollars an hour. Six days a week. Sunday is necessary preparation for another 12 hour daily work week and by preparation I mean sleeping, eating, and staying in your pajamas all day. But you're not thinking of Sunday when it's 5:59 pm. and you're about to go home.
It takes me an hour to commute from home to work, work to home. It's the closest job which provided sustenance: hours, food, and water. By 6 p.m. you don't really have any idea where time has gone or where it's going. I've driven to and from work so many times I could probably do it in my sleep, which I unwillingly catch myself doing now and then. As I'm driving home I feel the smooth ebb and flow of lights sliding up and down my body. The lights usually blind me, but it doesn't matter because this is all routine. I'm so comfortable and at home in that light. My body melts as the lights engulf the entire interior of my car. Seeing them leave is probably the saddest thing that happens to me daily.
I'm relaxed, barely paying attention, and making my way home when a red hue rises above the horizon. It's almost as if the sky is on fire as I make my way down the highway. This fascination always turns into anger as I slam on my brakes and realize that I was two inches from wrecking my car. I can't lose my car no matter what, it help facilitates my need for work and hours. That reminder hits me everyday I do the commute, but quickly succumbs to aggravation as I realize I'm going to be in traffic for the next hour, making it a two hour commute.
III
Time slowly passes by and I can hear the bangs of each click on my wrist watch as I wait for the driver in front of me to move forward another couple of inches. I notice the person on my left wants to move into my lane. It's a woman. Probably has kids and has worked a full day as well. I wave her in and she lifts her hand and shakes it emphatically, smiling in my direction. I smile back. I'm really happy at that moment. Incredibly happy. That's not really important though, I've got to get home and get some rest so I can be ready for work tomorrow.
Wait, what the hell is this?
I'm driving like any other man on the road, but this fucker in the S.U.V. thinks he owns the goddamn freeway. We're all struggling, inch by inch, foot by foot to complete our commute so what makes this prick so special? I worked my ass off and all I want to do is be home. Look at him. Oh, he's a smart one. He slowly inches in front of me and then what option do I have? Smash into him or let him have his way. By the time I get home it's going to be 8:30 pm and after cooking dinner, eating, taking a shower and finally getting to relax, it's goddamn ten. I can't even function at that point. I just sit in front of the tube until I fall asleep and the sad thing is that this happens everyday. I swear to God almighty himself and this sonavabitch's praise jesus bumper sticker that as soon as I have the time I'm going to get myself a pistol license for jerks like him.
I'll show him. And I do. I Cut off one or two people and i'm side to side with this moron and turn to look at him, but he's already looking back at me. I couldn't believe it. Chills run up my spine and I feel a droplet of sweat slide down my back, shopping only because the pants around my waist forced it to.
He looks just like me.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was thinking of adding something which hinted at the fact that he aged and nothing ever changed, but this is just a quick sketch. Other than that, maybe some snippets on certain customers/fleshing out the customer section, but I don't know what that would add. Gotta edit it and what not, but I should actually get to writing about what I said I'd be writing.
Also - this isn't the story I was talking about in the previous post. That one is a fantasy novella of some sort that i'll have to write (150 pages) sometime next year if I take the course I'm aiming for.
When I first looked for a job, it had to meet certain requirements. It had to provide me the hours and preferably be paid under the table. This ensured that the greedy bastard, Uncle Sam, wouldn't steal a piece of what is rightfully mine. It was never his money and he shouldn't get a piece of it. I worked for it, not him.
My average day goes something like this: I wake up at 4:30 in the morning to head off to the restaurant where I am employed. It's a nice little place which provides the hours, which at this point in my life have become as necessary as food and water. Monday is always the easiest. You get up and are completely ready for a full day of work. Once wednesday rolls around, things get a little tricky: you begin to hit the snooze button and trick yourself into believing that you have a little more time to rest. If you're in denial too much, you end up getting fired because of the amount of times you were late and that isn't an option. What other employer would be willing to pay these hours and with these benefits? I need this so I eventually resorted to using my cell phone's alarm for early rising which thankfully doesn't have a snooze alarm and gives me an edge on all the competition at the diner.
But as I was saying: it gets harder. By saturday you want to roll over and die, but it's worth it. Who wouldn't want to be 500 dollars richer? Nobody, that's who, and no one respects a nobody.
The Diner is a war with two fronts: customer relations and employee relations. You've got to keep your cool and go with the flow a lot, but you can't be pushed around. This is a general rule for handling the competition. Being the "Go To" guy is especially important: take the jobs that no one else enjoys and really stand out. That's how you get the hours and that's how you get the money and raise. Always be kind to the competition when you can afford it and if you find you are being targeted be sure to find someone everyone can dislike together. The rumor-mill is the greatest weapon of any saavy worker.
The customers are another story. Bend over backwards to please them because a satisfied customer means a happy customer. Make them happy enough and it really helps your relations with the employer. Do onto others that which you would want done onto you...unless of course it's your competition. But it's crucial to establish a relationship early on, smile even if you don't give two shits, and greet them as if they were a God falling from the heavens to order a number two. If something is screwed up when you deliver the food to them, take a hit and offer a free entree because in the long run that will reflect on you and ultimately lead to that goal: more hours and more money.
12 Hours at work. Seven dollars an hour. Six days a week. Sunday is necessary preparation for another 12 hour daily work week and by preparation I mean sleeping, eating, and staying in your pajamas all day. But you're not thinking of Sunday when it's 5:59 pm. and you're about to go home.
It takes me an hour to commute from home to work, work to home. It's the closest job which provided sustenance: hours, food, and water. By 6 p.m. you don't really have any idea where time has gone or where it's going. I've driven to and from work so many times I could probably do it in my sleep, which I unwillingly catch myself doing now and then. As I'm driving home I feel the smooth ebb and flow of lights sliding up and down my body. The lights usually blind me, but it doesn't matter because this is all routine. I'm so comfortable and at home in that light. My body melts as the lights engulf the entire interior of my car. Seeing them leave is probably the saddest thing that happens to me daily.
I'm relaxed, barely paying attention, and making my way home when a red hue rises above the horizon. It's almost as if the sky is on fire as I make my way down the highway. This fascination always turns into anger as I slam on my brakes and realize that I was two inches from wrecking my car. I can't lose my car no matter what, it help facilitates my need for work and hours. That reminder hits me everyday I do the commute, but quickly succumbs to aggravation as I realize I'm going to be in traffic for the next hour, making it a two hour commute.
Time slowly passes by and I can hear the bangs of each click on my wrist watch as I wait for the driver in front of me to move forward another couple of inches. I notice the person on my left wants to move into my lane. It's a woman. Probably has kids and has worked a full day as well. I wave her in and she lifts her hand and shakes it emphatically, smiling in my direction. I smile back. I'm really happy at that moment. Incredibly happy. That's not really important though, I've got to get home and get some rest so I can be ready for work tomorrow.
Wait, what the hell is this?
I'm driving like any other man on the road, but this fucker in the S.U.V. thinks he owns the goddamn freeway. We're all struggling, inch by inch, foot by foot to complete our commute so what makes this prick so special? I worked my ass off and all I want to do is be home. Look at him. Oh, he's a smart one. He slowly inches in front of me and then what option do I have? Smash into him or let him have his way. By the time I get home it's going to be 8:30 pm and after cooking dinner, eating, taking a shower and finally getting to relax, it's goddamn ten. I can't even function at that point. I just sit in front of the tube until I fall asleep and the sad thing is that this happens everyday. I swear to God almighty himself and this sonavabitch's praise jesus bumper sticker that as soon as I have the time I'm going to get myself a pistol license for jerks like him.
I'll show him. And I do. I Cut off one or two people and i'm side to side with this moron and turn to look at him, but he's already looking back at me. I couldn't believe it. Chills run up my spine and I feel a droplet of sweat slide down my back, shopping only because the pants around my waist forced it to.
He looks just like me.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
I was thinking of adding something which hinted at the fact that he aged and nothing ever changed, but this is just a quick sketch. Other than that, maybe some snippets on certain customers/fleshing out the customer section, but I don't know what that would add. Gotta edit it and what not, but I should actually get to writing about what I said I'd be writing.
Also - this isn't the story I was talking about in the previous post. That one is a fantasy novella of some sort that i'll have to write (150 pages) sometime next year if I take the course I'm aiming for.
at first i thought this was you, and i was like wow, you kinda work alot. Then it said the hour commute, and i was like wait a minute, it doesnt take that long to get there. lol I know how that feels though. I think alot of people can relate to a story like that because its true and so like alot of people. The whole customer thing i thought was good, i think anything too extravagant will take away from what you really want. The aging part might be good, it would end up being that guy whos stuck in that dead end job doing the same thing his whole life getting stuck in traffic, also showing how alot of other people are in the same boat.
Me like, keep it goin
Posted by
J.Q. |
11:28 PM
Nice, man. This was good. I liked how he enjoyed the routine and working all those hours. I was well written, I mean definitely revise, of course. But I don't know if you need to add too much, especially about the age. I mean I liked the subtlety of it, that you had to discern that this image scared him. That his enjoyable everyday routine didn't look so great from the outside.
^^^^^^
Clark
Posted by
Anonymous |
12:30 AM