Read My Story

Sep 17, 2004 22:06

Don’t See Me Stupid
Michael Evans

~Have you ever been out somewhere and everyone who looked at you did so as if you were stupid? I’ll be the first to say that it’s quite annoying. What right to strangers have to judge you with their eyes? It’s not moral; I don’t like it. The problem is, it happens to me a lot. In fact, it happened just the other day. Let me tell you about it.
~It was September 16, 2004. I was a little upset because I had to work at Food Lion. I was rushed, too, because I had to be there by 3:30. I got out of school at 2:20. I had approximately seventy minutes. So I had to eat, right? That’s a rhetorical question-don’t answer it. Yes, I did have to eat. So as I was driving down Enterprise Drive I spotted a Subway station; or rather, a Subway restaurant. I hoped dearly that their description of fast food was literal. My hopes were dashed, however, when the sluggish man slowly made my sub in almost the exact opposite way I asked him to. So of course, he had to correct it. I made a mental note as he worked, stating that this Subway was certainly not fast food. Of course, in the time that it took him to make my sub, I could have written and published an essay on the matter too. I finally got my sub and left the restaurant. Rather than eat and drive (you never know what police will pull you over for nowadays), I decided eating in my car was wiser. And alas, who should walk up to the car beside me but the lumbering man who created, destroyed, and correctly recreated my sub! He saw me with my window down and my sub in my mouth and he gave me the strangest stare. It seemed as though his eyes taunted me saying, “Wow, don’t you look stupid Michael. Eating a sub in your car in the Subway parking lot. You’re such a loser.” As I was very unappreciative of his eyes rude remarks, I stared him down while my eyes screamed incoherent curse words at they top of their pupils. The man slowly opened his door and got in. Thank God I wasn’t finished with my sub yet, he drove slower than he made subs.
~I eventually finished my sub and had much time to spare. Lacking any initiative to do anything but drive to my workplace, I drove to my workplace. There I parked in the back of the lot, closest to the road. I sat and listened to my CDs with my windows down until it came time for me to work. Wouldn’t you know, though, that almost every other driver looked at me funny? I swear this one guy slowed down so much I almost thought he was going to get out and investigate such a humorous (in his opinion) scene. Of course I glared evilly at each and every one of the people who looked at me oddly. I don’t appreciate them gawking at me like I’m some exotic nude polar bear. I endured it, however, until I had to work.
~Then came work. You work with so many diverse customers as a cashier. Quick ones, slow ones, fat ones, skinny ones, tall ones, short ones, and, of course, ones who look at you like you’re stupid. Such was the case with one customer. As is our policy, I asked for this lady’s Driver’s License so I could mark on the check she’d written. I didn’t speak fast or slur my words. I didn’t stutter or sound drunk. I spoke clearly and decisively and I asked, “Ma’am, may I please see your Driver’s License too.” I’ve never seen a more blank face in my life. It’s as if with the finale of the question, all intelligence seeped from her brain like maple syrup from pine trees. And in the most annoying and haughty voice, after regaining what little intelligence she had, she says, “Huh?” You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted to say, “Your Driver’s License! It was issued to allow you to drive. It has its own number that I need to write on your check! Did you walk here? You have to have it! Give me your damned license!” However, if I’ve learned anything from working at Food Lion, it’s that patience is valuable. As in, if you don’t have patience you’ll be fired and you’ll lose what paychecks you may have received in the future. So I calmly said, “Your Driver’s License ma’am, may I see it?” This time, I was less than shocked to meet the same expression on her face. I sighed inwardly at her apparent stupidity and awaited her next response. Glancing at the customer behind her whose face held quite the exasperated look, I couldn’t help but chuckle. The woman finally says to me, “What do you want that for?” I curtailed the desire to roll my eyes and pointed to the sign literally right under her nose (she was short). “It’s our policy ma’am, we need to see a photo I.D. with all checks.” Reluctantly, she handed over her I.D. and I proceeded to check her out. All the while she stared at me as if I were a squirrel who miraculously changed human before her eyes and was dressed in a Food Lion shirt with a name tag stating, “Michael: I’m here to help.” I handed over her receipt and grinned widely as she turned to depart and nearly took out my manager with her cart.
~Speaking of my manager, guess who looked at me funny next? That’s right, Mickey Mouse. He was on a cereal box that I couldn’t get to scan, and I’ll swear to anything that he gave me an irritated look. I think I made him dizzy. My manager was the one after Mickey, though. You see, I wasn’t originally scheduled to work that night. One of the managers asked me if I would work and I agreed. I’d forgotten what time I was supposed to leave, though. So around 8:30, I yell over to Diane, my manager at the time, and asked if she had any idea when I was supposed to leave. It turns out that I was supposed to make a departure at 8:00. Diane looks at me like I’m an idiot and says, “Uhh…how about half an hour ago?” Fighting off the urge to say, “Uhh...why didn’t you feel the need to tell me that then?”, I said, “Oh, I guess I’d better leave then.”
~So finally I removed my till from the drawer and the only other cashier, Brittany (a Pioneer), comes over to take my register. However, when she realizes it’s me she looks strangely at me and says, “Why are you leaving at 8:30?” Have you ever wanted to throw something just to watch it burst into a billion tiny little shards of whatever it’s made of? I felt that way then. I suppressed my frustration to pull out a smooth, “I don’t know, I’m not really supposed to work tonight, I was asked to fill in. I was actually supposed to be gone half an hour ago.” She just smiled at me and took over the register.
~I left the store exhausted and happy, finally able to go home. As I reach my car to leave, however, this weasel-like man cast me an unusual glance that soured my mood like the hot sun sours exposed milk. I jerked myself into the car and slammed my door. I turned on my headlights, turned the radio up, rolled the windows down, and ignored people the rest of the night. Happily I slept after having no more confrontations. Or so I thought. Whoever says torture in your dreams wasn’t real…they are wrong-dead wrong.

^^That's My Story^^ A ~ indicates a new paragraph just incase it doesn't let me indent.
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