Life seems blurry some days. Today is one of those days. I feel lost. I feel like all I’m doing is waiting for that letter to come in the mail to invaite me to an interview for the city job I want. I’m kind of sick of my job. I liked it for a while, but they changed it a lot. It’s always changing to be honest. Feels weird. I don’t like change because it takes away my sense of control or that I have knowledge. Knowledge is the new obsolescently planned dishwasher marketed in the 1950s. It seems I constantly fail to get a grip on reality, because of how fluid it is. I feel alienated at work now, which is strange because it’s a coffee shop, the last place you’d feel alienated. It’s weird. They changed how we operate our store so for this week so far, I have basically been a barback robot boy, whose accessory of sharpie and perhaps namedtag have becomed a timer and list of tasks. Brew coffee, restock ice, lids, sleeves. Then, look into your signal box: what does your team need? Hot cups, they need hot cups, iced flat lids, paper bags for food. Then wipe down the condiment bar; at the meeting they say hi to someone on your way there, but it’s not the same because, like I said it’s all a routine. Just like this heat, just like the sunset- it’s all a routine. The timer goes off before your cycle task. Time to stop what I’m doing and brew coffee, restock ice, lids, sleeves. Then, look into your signal box: what does your team need? Milk- lots of milk, a bottle of vanilla, perhaps green tea or iced coffee. What needs work on the outside. Sugar, they need raw sugar out there. On your way there, wow they’re already out of cups, okay gotta get cups. Change the milk, wipe the condi-bar, say a forced hi if you can. Now you can change your co-workers trash, give them lids after you wash your hand. That will help them so they don’t have to yell, but I liked it when they yelled my name, it made me feel like I was there, like I was human just like them.
It feels like we’re too aware of the rules and try to perform this new method, that we forget to connect, or perhaps there is no more time to connect because our store is always so damn busy. Our store is just always so damn busy. I wish it wasn’t. Maybe if coffee spilled on me I could wake up, because drinking it, I can do it at night and still sleep well. Like I said, it’s all about routine; and perhaps the battery acide like stream of drip coffee off of an urn and onto my arm- the hot, acidic, dark brown water and oil entering my skin, my blood. Maybe then it will feel different.
But I have to wait, maybe I will always be waiting to come to life, to be more than a floating mass of ectoplasm, far from a holy ghost, but complacently in a background of humanity, advocacy, arguments a human type of struggle, the marshes of conflict, sex, and vices. And I feel so external to it, I feel so unaware of my nature, disconnected from myself. That is something.