about to leave out of subwayIt's kind of sad, but I'm about to be done with Subway forever. At least I think I am. Life always throws us random curveballs; in fact, that's about the only thing we can be certain of. But as I doff my Subway hat for the last time, I will actually cry a silent tear to myself. It will be the last.
The last, "WHAT KIND OF BREAD DO YOU WANT????!!!! The last, "SIX INCH OR FOOTLONG@%*!!!!???!! The last, "WOULD YOU LIKE IT TOASTED???? TOASSSSSTEDDDD?????!!!!!! The last, "WHAT KIND OF MEAT?????? WHAT KIND OF CHEESE????!!!! And then the dreaded....."what vegetables???? Then, there's the whole blank stare as someone gives you their credit card. No, I'm sorry, you pay out there on the little machine that's right in front of you. [Thinking to myself, "wow, I actually make that mistake sometimes when I go out."] The last, "Um, ma'am, your sweet tea is out." And then the dreaded having to explain it will take at least 5 minutes to brew, and watching as someone's face falls, and they either take it like a woman, or sit down and wait for that tea to brew. The last, "C'mon kids, what do you WANT?" And then me standing there patiently because I don't care how long the kids take. I'm there anyways. But the parents have just embarrassed themselves... The last, "DING" as that door opens. The last "beep beep beep," as that toaster tells you it's sandwich is nice and crunchy now. The last Subway commercial I'm going to hear while working inside of a Subway. The last time I get to play with soap and water suds for 5 minutes a day while getting paid to do it. The last time I get to be extremely standoffish to a person I don't like because I work in the service industry, and can pretend it's just because they suck as a customer. The last time I can "allegedly" make a girl cry....(I still don't know if I believe that mom.) The last time the people who work next door will come in and tip me for no reason in the mornings. The last time the post man will stare into our windows after getting out of his truck, with his deep dark sunglasses on so that he looks super sketch while doing it. The last time that somebody I know from my extreme or recent past comes in and we have to re-aqucaint ourselves. (Usually a pleasant experience--except sometimes you realize you were robbed as a child.) The last time I will clock in before disassembling the alarm. The last time I will check a caller-ID and get a rush of adrenaline when I see it's named "Patel." The last time that awesome Coca Cola lady (Laverne) will call and have me tell her what the store needs to order. (Her voice is silky like the drinks and plastic themselves.) The last time I will stare out into the lobby and see the grand comical instrument that is going on. The last time that I will take comfort in being at that place while there is a storm outside. The last time I will hear contemporary hip-hop nonstop all day for 9 hours at a time. The last time I will print a little slip that says SUBWAY STORE 528588 printed at the top. <Is it too late to say I'm sorrrrry?> The last time I will get extremely aggravated at getting behind a dump truck on MacHatcher, or at being stopped at that red light right before I'm home free to arrive at work. The last time that I might see the hot high school boy who works next door who probably knows I have a crush on him but he's too cool for me. The last time the window cleaning people come in and tell me they don't believe I'm going to ever quit. The last time our every-day morning guy comes in and gets the same thing except minus the mayonnaise on certain non-exceptional occasions. The last time I will smell yogurt when opening up a container of "eggs." The last time I will slip and slide within a freezer that has been open for 5 minutes. The last time I will punch the numbers, "15, 15" The last time that screen will change to the Main Page right as I'm about to ring somebody up. The last time I will wish I wasn't working at a Subway but being completely content to work at a Subway. The last time I get to rub bread into Italian Herbs and Cheese topping. The last time I get to control when to smell that fresh cookie baked smell. The last time I get to take a free cup that's got a cool picture on it (Star Wars). The last time I get to work with my awesome co-workers. The last time I get to say, "this is the last." -SM
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Out of orbitIt is not fair. Time can not absolve you of sins you never faced. It is not fair. How can you say, "don't dwell on that it happened years ago" when we never confronted it in the first place. For the first several years, you tried to act like it didn't happen, or that it was all my fault, or tried to externalize and then point the blame but never take any portion? How can you say, "Oh you're going to go back to that?" What, did you do it so that you could f*%k me up and play that you had no part? That IS f*&ked up, and I'm your own d*#@%ter. So messed up. As if it wasn't supposed to--yeah--make me see things differently. Sorry. If planet Earth suddenly goes out of orbit with Mars, then yes, things are going to be seen and taken into consideration and scientific discovery in a whole new light. If some truths stay the same, but your central point of focus differs, then you start to see laws of physics in a whole new way. Standards become deviations, deviations become the standards. Everything is messed up and makes perfect sense at once, I am just out of orbit. I just think it's cold how some people tend toward meanness instead of niceness or happiness. I do not understand it, will not HOPEFULLY EVER UNDERSTAND IT, nor do I care to continue to observe it or be mystified by it or hindered or harmed or lessened by it. It can no longer pull me down. It can no longer drink from my cup. It can no longer use what is mine for its own. It can no longer prey among my lifeblood. It may no longer watch me. It can no longer feign disinterest. It can not hide from me, when I can read it like a book from far far away. I do not know how or why exactly I understand it so well, but that is probably because I have a piece of it inside of me. But that too is all not too true. For the one who gave it to me has a tiny piece of me inside of her, and therefore, in having a tiny part of her, I have the whole of me. And for that, hopefully everybody can be forgiven (or at least understood). Or at least I can be forgiven and understood. At the very least. AnacHronism a·nach·ro·nism (ə-năkrə-nĭz′əm) n. 2. One that is out of its proper or chronological order, especially a person or practice that belongs to an earlier time: "A new age had plainly dawned, an age that made the institution of a segregated picnic seem an anachronism" (Henry Louis Gates, Jr.) When something is out of joint, out of time, it means it is anachronism. Now let's pretend that somebody is chronically anachric. No matter where he goes, no matter what he does; where he lives, or who he's with--he feels out of time.
How does he know this? It is apparent in his skull. How does he know what is in his gut/intuition and in his mind is correct? It is undeniably, undesirably, confirmed by the natural world--identifiable by perception. He knows he is not deceived. And yet, to become an anachric, one has to be greatly deceived. Deceived beyond measurable measures. They themselves become the only way that such deception is measurable, perceptible. It is a sadness. Sometimes it feels like a great weight. To walk around as an anachric is to see falsities as falsities, truths as truths, and to witness the greatest of miracles. What it means for the anachric his self is sometimes unclear. But usually, given that the universe did not put him first anyways (for he was chosen as an anachric), he does not place too much concern on his own personal state. For, as the universe has desired and confirmed, he is actually very accepted among his peers of humans, and for this, his way is made easier for some. All the more easy for him to be an anachric. What might be the cycle of the anachric, you ask? Why, to get himself out of being an anachric, of course! Nobody wants to be an anachric. A lot of people don't know that they are an anachric, or slightly anachric. But of course, for a lot of people, it is not a chronic problem. Not as whole-encompassing. Perhaps they are only slightly anachric. Wouldn't that be nice? Actually, no. That would be almost worst, because that might mean that they were never wholly-un-anachric, too. And that would be a life way more confusing than his as the chronically anachric deceived. It didn't just happen overnight; no, of course not. Nor over the course of some weeks or even some months. But it did happen over time. He supposes he was himself growing into the slightly anachric state that he has just mentioned, where some people are only partly anachric. He was becoming partly anachric, But there was always a holy ring of fire above his head. Now, anyways, he one day was cursed so hard that all the structure of the before-life fell down (crumbled), and he became somebody else entirely. But of course, he did not become somebody else entirely. For how is that possible when other people still exist as they are, and there is no possible way to erase the person that you once were, especially as imprinted in others' minds and memories. And this anachric happens to have the best of friends, and the most blessed of pasts. Yes, of course, there was hardship in the past; but becasue this anachric was such a nice person (not claiming to be exceptional, just blessed), the person happened to have a very lucky bit of circumstances. For exactly what he needed to get back to himself had been placed in order for himself by himself, so that he had only to trace his own very footsteps. And luckily, this was fun, too. So I guess the anachric didn't have it half bad. Not half bad as most people, anyways. He couldn't believe all the hardship that existed in the world. He just couldn't believe it. Every day it was a shattering realization. But he knew what he had to do. Perhaps he had a little of the inkinling of knowing what he'd have to do at the very onset, the very beginning. But it became more and more clear as the threads were unweaving, and he finally gave in to the vortex that was himself. He ended it. He began it. Whatever you want to call it. He moved back home. Back home to where he could pick up the pieces more easily, and leave those untouched that shall not be scattered. He had done enough damage, he felt. But that wasn't even the start of it. Truth was, the most damage was all in his mind, and the world was a beautiful place. If only people could realize that. Perhaps, through him... So, sometimes me and my coworkers get bored....
On this particular day, we decided to each write a short scenario about pyramid robbers, and then read them aloud. Here lies our original gold... Joni One of my last days at Subway 201
A secret disquiet arose in her mind as she contemplated the actions of her desires. Should she stay? Should she go? Everyone wanted different things, but for herself, she didn't know. Didn't know at all. Mopping, she contemplated. Where to go? |
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