In a little over 24 hours I will be serving my final customers after five years with this store, the job that has been a huge part of my identity since before I graduated university (and probably the reason I haven’t grown as much as I’d like to?)
Will there be tears? Will I be able to fully process the enormity of the day, or will I just be like “Get me outta here.” I’ll still have another week of cleanup after that, too.
I have the impulse to make it a big thing, but I’m so flummoxed right now. I’m scared and nervous and I can’t really deal. In two weeks I’m gonna start waking up and going “Oh Jesus, it’s over.”
It was just a job. But shit, it was my job.
I hope you guys are ready for disaffected white boy poetry because that’s all this blog is going to be from now on
I’m not super-duper active on social media lately… I feel like I’m around, and I’ve sure posted a lot of writing, but I don’t have much to say. I just come home and flop down in front of the TV or with some comfort music. The summer knocked me flat and I am just staggering to my feet. With my job ending after next week (our last day open is this Saturday) it really feels like the last days, as the store is slowly but surely draining of product, the staff has a “could hardly give a fuck” attitude, and nearly every conversation I have with a customer has me going over the facts about what happened and why. To say nothing of the fact that even thinking about finding a new job is just too much to process. I am totally drained so much of the time. That may explain why I have been writing more - for good or ill - because I need something, and it feels like the only thing I can do.
Sometimes you have to lean into the skid. Previous chapters here.
Melancholy Chapter 38: Coincidences
Mel admitted, reluctantly, that there was something about humanity’s free will that was probably worth saving. Sure, over the years, it had been the source of a great deal of frustration for her, and a lot of people she knew wouldn’t be much worse off, but it seemed like she would maybe miss it if it were gone.
Jim was operating on the assumption that both Ivana and the mechanism for controlling the human race were going to be on the premises for this gala. “How can you possibly know that?” Mel asked impatiently.
"Call it intuition," Jim said, "Surely you’ve learned to trust it by now."
"I haven’t," Mel said, "And why did you just call me Shirley? Are you having a stroke? Do you remember who I am? Do you need a Doctor? Jim, are you okay???"
Some days I just feel like a dumb ol bag of oatmeal.
Almost there. Previous chapters here.
Melancholy Chapter 37: Tour
"Why do we need to rescue her?" Mel asked, irritated. "She went with those suits willingly. She’s a grownup. She can do whatever she likes."
"I don’t exactly think she was in the clearest headspace when she went with them," Jim said, "After what happened at the Doorman, we were all kind of in a daze. She might have said yes to anything."
"So you think this is my fault?"
Jim looked over at Mel. He knew he had to choose his response carefully.
"Kinda?" he said uncertainly. It was a poor choice.