Sunday, November 5, 2000
The alarm clock goes off at 5:45 a.m.. I grogilly rise from bed, and walk over to shut it off. Like a zombie, I put on my work clothes, and stagger to the bathroom to piss, wash up, and put my hair back. Food, I think... To the kitchen I go...
Careful not to wake my sleeping aunt, I pass the dark, quiet living room, and clumsily slap together a bowl of cereal. I eat in a trance. After working Saturday night, combined with the early morning quiet, I simply stare at the table until my cereal is finished.
It is raining out, so I quietly walk back to the bedroom to put on my rain pants. They crinkle, and swish noisily as I walk to the door to leave. I hear a stir on the couch. Then another blow is fired at my soul.
Have fun at work, she mumbles, snuggling deeper in the blankets - fully knowing that it is raining, and cold, and VERY early.
Fuck you too, I think, as I exit the apartment for my 20 minute walk in the rain.
As I walk, my thoughts delve deeper, and my mood plunges with them. I mentally list the tasks which I must perform mechanically, day after day. No, there's no skill involved in being a gas station attendant. My mind shuts out the rest of the day, while I perform repetetive, mechanical movements, that nobody appreciates, or even notices.
I am treated like a slave, or a personal servant. Noticed only when something goes wrong. I am further insulted on payday, when I receive a pat on the head, and an empty word of thanks.
Well, thank you too, Gas Station. I wish I had a match to pay you back...