Monday, May 26, 2008

Friday, May 23rd. 3:32pm.

I am sitting in the middle row of seats of a silver grand caravan. The sliding door is open a crack to let the breeze in. I suffer the rhythmic alert that the door is in fact a jar because, even though it's only sixty degrees, this bus steams up in the spring Massachusetts sunshine when entirely sealed. My trusty steed and I rest in a suburban parking lot, our location equidistant to a Barnes and Noble on my left, in which I read the first three chapters of a book I did not buy, and a stand-alone Bank of America atm on my right. I am wondering how I can possibly waste five more hours and how I've managed to let my toenails grow to the tips of my toes.

I feel like a kid, camped out in my parents' van. And although I've done absolutely nothing scandolous or out of the ordinary apart from changing out of my business attire into street clothes, being separated from the world by vinyl and tinted windows somehow makes my sedentary state seem more exciting.

In approximately 15 minutes I will depart, return to the office to catch my ride to the airport. This class will be my last at corporate headquarters for a good while. And that's okay by me. Parts of my soul are consumed when I'm here. Walk into any store - be it the supermarket, the Blockbuster, the Fedex office - and you will be met by limp "hello"s and "have a nice day"s with so little feeling that they suck a little happiness out of your day. The whole town seems to be filled by brainwashed zombies, their souls consumed long ago, mindlessly pulling their cars out in front of you when you have the right of way and gravitating towards the Sheraton bar on a Saturday night because that is the most happening place in town. I am reminded all too well of my hometown, of people's satisfaction with routine and mediocrity, and I long to get back to my lively city.

3 comments:

anaeromyxo said...

I find that conversations with store clerks make me feel lonely, no matter how many other people I've spoken to previously in the day. I think it might be because I primarily have conversations with store clerks when I'm in unfamiliar settings...I hate feeling like they are just waiting for their lunch break and being polite.

random muse said...

Last week I went to Burger King for dinner and at the drive-thru window the girl asked "how are you doing?" in her polite "I have to ask you this" kind of voice. I replied "Good, thanks and yourself?" and she looked at me shocked. She was barely able to stumble out "good..." as she was so surprised someone wasn't being paid to ask her that. Society today - they only care about themselves and what they're being paid to say w/o meaning it.

biophd said...

I know the feeling, but my perspective here has changed. If I had an actual conversation with a store clerk here I'd be ecstatic. Now I'm just focusing on understanding the numbers when they tell me the price.