ON RECOGNITION
He opens the door and walks in. Thick black jacket, slim fingers and too much facial hair. Small eyes. Goes straight to the counter; "Do you have any more purple licorice? Yeah, that. du Maurier king size." He's my least favourite, so far. Always smells a little too heavily of cigarette smoke. Never makes eye contact. He's curt and throws his coins on the plastic counter.
du Maurier and purple licorice.
She opens the door and walks in. Skin that appears to be held on by the tiniest of tiny threads, barely clinging to her aging bones. Pella. She's Greek and won't let you forget it. Lottery tickets and ice cream sandwiches. Three packs of Player's Light, but never matches, because she's buying for someone else. "Put the change in the bag, please." She'll tell you that university should be free, that she hopes you love working here because it's a "good job for a good girl", and you won't do anything other than nod your head and smile because she keeps on calling you "my girl", and it secretly makes you happy.
Player's Light and frozen novelties.
He opens the door and walks in. He walks on crutches because he only has one leg. A seaswept face. Whiskers and a beard. Always comes in when the place is empty so I can take my time validating his lottery tickets. He never seems to win anything, but we joke and smile and say "maybe next time!" He turns around to wish me a pleasant day, and it seems as though he really means it. Sincerity ain't cheap these days, folks.
Yellow jackets and "Hey! You never learn.."
She opens the door and walks in. "You again!" she says with a smile. I compliment her on her skirt; it looks as though she sewed it from an old pair of jeans. I did that once. It looked awful so I never wore it. Orange juice and the morning paper. It's Saturday, after all.
Sunny hearts on rainy days.
He opens the door and walks in. Purple bags under his eyes. The scent of rum seeping through his skin and over the counter over the till over the lottery tickets and into me. That thick, nauseating hangover smell. "I guess I shouldn't have partied so hard last night."
-
Listened to the tape that C. made for me at work last night and today. It seems as though any job can be made tolerable- or downright enjoyable, in this case- when accompanied by a damn fine soundtrack. Being down in a coal mine is one thing, but being down in a coal mine rocking out to "Blue Eyes" by the Cary Brothers is another, right?
Ho hum.
I get to watch Garden State, play video games, and drink Mojitos tonight! Are you jealous?
It's bubble bath time. Who am I kidding- it's always bubble bath time.
He opens the door and walks in. Thick black jacket, slim fingers and too much facial hair. Small eyes. Goes straight to the counter; "Do you have any more purple licorice? Yeah, that. du Maurier king size." He's my least favourite, so far. Always smells a little too heavily of cigarette smoke. Never makes eye contact. He's curt and throws his coins on the plastic counter.
du Maurier and purple licorice.
She opens the door and walks in. Skin that appears to be held on by the tiniest of tiny threads, barely clinging to her aging bones. Pella. She's Greek and won't let you forget it. Lottery tickets and ice cream sandwiches. Three packs of Player's Light, but never matches, because she's buying for someone else. "Put the change in the bag, please." She'll tell you that university should be free, that she hopes you love working here because it's a "good job for a good girl", and you won't do anything other than nod your head and smile because she keeps on calling you "my girl", and it secretly makes you happy.
Player's Light and frozen novelties.
He opens the door and walks in. He walks on crutches because he only has one leg. A seaswept face. Whiskers and a beard. Always comes in when the place is empty so I can take my time validating his lottery tickets. He never seems to win anything, but we joke and smile and say "maybe next time!" He turns around to wish me a pleasant day, and it seems as though he really means it. Sincerity ain't cheap these days, folks.
Yellow jackets and "Hey! You never learn.."
She opens the door and walks in. "You again!" she says with a smile. I compliment her on her skirt; it looks as though she sewed it from an old pair of jeans. I did that once. It looked awful so I never wore it. Orange juice and the morning paper. It's Saturday, after all.
Sunny hearts on rainy days.
He opens the door and walks in. Purple bags under his eyes. The scent of rum seeping through his skin and over the counter over the till over the lottery tickets and into me. That thick, nauseating hangover smell. "I guess I shouldn't have partied so hard last night."
-
Listened to the tape that C. made for me at work last night and today. It seems as though any job can be made tolerable- or downright enjoyable, in this case- when accompanied by a damn fine soundtrack. Being down in a coal mine is one thing, but being down in a coal mine rocking out to "Blue Eyes" by the Cary Brothers is another, right?
Ho hum.
I get to watch Garden State, play video games, and drink Mojitos tonight! Are you jealous?
It's bubble bath time. Who am I kidding- it's always bubble bath time.
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
If you have the right attitude anything can be fun.
Video Games, mojitos? Kinda jealous
How's it going?