An Average Day For Average Men
Download LinkStreetlight Manifesto - Everything Went Numb
I wake up late from a night out with friends, still drunk from another night at the mausoleum of our fortunes. I do not have time to shower, and I’m out of deodorant. A quick sniff test reveals the bland mix of dull cigarette smoke and the previous day’s must, and it must suffice. Changing into clothes whose fresh scent hide my own biological soup, I dart out of the door. There is simply not enough time.
But there is always time for cigarettes. Wheeling around corners and sending my maniac green machine forward, I make a quick stop at the gas station. I walk in and before I can utter a word, the woman behind the counter pulls a pack of Turkish Silver loose from its plastic prison. Everyday I walk in, and everyday she is here. It is beyond routine. Its pathetic. I slide seven dollars over the counter, for I know the price, and turn without saying another word or bothering with my change (37 cents to be exact…)
I feel as if I’ve just done something wrong.
I speed to work, lost in thought and the reverberating sound of horns emanating from their digital prison within my dashboard. The streetlight manifesto of my life.
Manning the phones is automatic. Control, alt, delete. Enter password. Throw the headset around my neck. Lock, stock, and ready to roll.
The phone rings. And so it begins.
They offered a free catered lunch at work, but I longed to be alone. To be everywhere but here, so I left without saying a word. Again, I felt as I had done something wrong. But my crime was only discourteous in nature.
I went to a fast food restaurant and as I waited in line I noticed that the manager was interviewing a middle-aged woman. She looked like someone’s mother: round and caring, with the chiseled lines of so many smiles and even more frowns. As I waited I tuned in intently to their conversation.
The manager sat across the small booth from her. A portly fellow. If it usually sat four, with him two was just cozy enough. He waved his arms about in grand fashion, gently tossing her application back and forth–the single sheet which in 8×11 summed up the working history of an entire human being. He was condescending and pedantic, using flowery language to ask the most debasing questions…
“What would you say the incentives are for you to take on this job?”
To fulfill my dream of wearing a cardboard hat and an ill-fitting shirt while serving people food that will slowly kill them…she seemed to say…
He told her that he would hire her, but “there is one caveat.” Such a beautiful word belongs no where near this conversation, but alas, he warned her that he could only pay her $6.75 an hour.
She nodded affirmatively as she had the whole time. A desperate woman and the man throwing her scraps, enjoying his pathetic position of power over her. It was sick. Human life only worth $6.75 an hour, and her gleefully sopping it up.
I wanted to take her by the hand and walk her out into the world and release her from this servitude. She was worth more. I swear she was worth more. But she will start this Sunday, black slacks and black shoes are required. She said she would have to buy some…
I returned to work and after the initial round of “where’d you go’s” I settled back into my pilot’s seat. Control, alt, delete. Enter password. Throw the headset around my neck. Lock, stock, and ready to roll.
And the phone rings. So it begins again.
My first call of the second half was from a sweet old lady. She was interested in a computer, for she would have much time at home in times not yet passed. She was dying. Although she did not let on the nature of her impending twilight, she was quiet and sad when speaking of it. She wished to discover the internet and email. She wanted to share pictures of her newborn grandchild with her friends who had braved the great binary highway years ago, leaving her behind to betas and 8-track cassettes. Her name was beautiful, like hepatica dying to grow in dark corners. Her pain was slow motion, like the same flower reaching for the lonely ray of light which cuts through the gloom. I set her up and hit release, sending her off into the world. Alone. And dying.
I was forced to work an hour of overtime in the morning, and was slated for one in the evening. But five minutes before the arduous extra hour was to begin I was released from my servitude and sent home to thank the gods of both occupation and relaxation for such a welcome reprieve.
I smelt bad. The fresh scent of clean clothes faded fast in the heightened intensity of my heat. I decided to swing by the store and pick up some freshness, because society told me that I was intolerable, although I was quite comfortable.
As I drove, I saw a bicyclist standing over a wrecked bike. His knees bloody and head hanging. Holding a broken wheel in one hand, he looked disgusted. I wondered how far he’d have to walk to get to wherever he called home.
And I drove on.
I grabbed a stick of deodorant and was checked out by a cheeky female with a robotic voice. A human sound to such an inhuman device. I looked around and noticed the lines forming at these automated checkout contraptions while check-out lanes with clerks remained empty. I thought, “To what lengths we go to simply be alone…”
I snatched my receipt and left. Lighting my last cigarette, having killed the entire pack throughout the day, I realized how fast I am killing myself. I thought about stopping for another pack, but the thought offended me and my sense of biological existence.
I drove passed the same biker, still staring at his wreckage with the same look of disgust, so far from home…
And I drove on, with everything numb.
Just an average day for an average man. Routine, solitude, and sharing in the misery of others.
Damn, I wish I had a cigarette.
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.