i've worked 2 months at this gas station and all i got was this lousy poem!
Here's a rant I wrote over the course of an 8 hour graveyard shift. It will also be reposted on myspace (just warning you). It's also not done. Around 5am it got too busy to continue, and I haven't yet been inspired to go back to it.
Anyway.
I've worked a month at this lousy gas station, slave to coffee, cigarettes and lotto tickets. 4th of July, working overtime to serve the star-spangled masses, 7 dollars and hour for hours of searching for the ice key.
Making 20 different flavors of coffee for the 3rd shift at IBM
4am conversations with truckers about cocaine
that toad that hopped inside the store
rescuing drowning moths from the cappucino machine
the shade of blue that the sky turns half an hour before dawn
drunk kids at 3am
guys I went to middle-school with asking me, "is your last name Cipri?"
trying to listen to our poetry over the John Tesh Christian Values and Crap Music Radio Show
Grumbling my way through 8 hour shifts until the old lady comes in before her dialysis at Fletcher Allen and reminds me of what I should be grateful for, tells me her son might be giving her one of his kidneys, and all the while that damn song by Meatloaf is playing, again, the one that I was inexplicably in love with when I was six and sometimes
I wonder if everything really is about love and we really are connected in a divine, celestial way despite all these people coming in who say things like "how-are-you" and "have-a-good-morning/day/night/evening/whatever" without meaning it or even caring what it is that's coming out of their mouth and I know how contaigious it is
I know
sometimes I have to remind myself to meet people eyes.
Anyway.
I've worked a month at this lousy gas station, slave to coffee, cigarettes and lotto tickets. 4th of July, working overtime to serve the star-spangled masses, 7 dollars and hour for hours of searching for the ice key.
Making 20 different flavors of coffee for the 3rd shift at IBM
4am conversations with truckers about cocaine
that toad that hopped inside the store
rescuing drowning moths from the cappucino machine
the shade of blue that the sky turns half an hour before dawn
drunk kids at 3am
guys I went to middle-school with asking me, "is your last name Cipri?"
trying to listen to our poetry over the John Tesh Christian Values and Crap Music Radio Show
Grumbling my way through 8 hour shifts until the old lady comes in before her dialysis at Fletcher Allen and reminds me of what I should be grateful for, tells me her son might be giving her one of his kidneys, and all the while that damn song by Meatloaf is playing, again, the one that I was inexplicably in love with when I was six and sometimes
I wonder if everything really is about love and we really are connected in a divine, celestial way despite all these people coming in who say things like "how-are-you" and "have-a-good-morning/day/night/evening/whatever" without meaning it or even caring what it is that's coming out of their mouth and I know how contaigious it is
I know
sometimes I have to remind myself to meet people eyes.