Employment history.

Written at 2045, during work hours in my first job (technically).

There are few moments in life I've felt more out of place. I've just had my second sausage mcmuffin, bought hurriedly this morning and serving to reverse whatever effort i've paid into exercising for the past few days. I wait for customers to come, my weight resting on elbows folded against a wooden stall with too much bamboo and fauxness. My legs hurt and joints make me feel like an old person. I stand bathed in orange light in an alcove of sorts, counting down the last hour of my demise. A Chinese coin that might've been once golden but now worn and rusted hangs above my sightline -


Ah, Arab men. My weakness.
A shaved head and stubble to match. 
Wide eyes framed by long lashes beneath half-framed glasses. 
A smile and a thank you.
Dammit. Dam your grumpy friend.


Back to the coin.
The coin - rusted and worn - hangs taped to the metallic structure that holds everything in place. Pencils and pens of all the garish shades children seem to enjoy are gathered into one shelf, compartmentalized by various designs of wooden holders and boxes. Hanging on either side are small plastic bags of the same disturbingly joyous colors and next to me is a calculator (which makes me feel rather official) above an unread Agatha Christie and an empty bottle of vitamin water - the only thing i've drunk all day.


A pleasant woman mans the stall beside me, wearing a rather thick woolen sweater in a bright shade of green. She smiles once in a while and sympathizes with my poor sales figures.


I am perhaps the worst salesperson in the history of salespeople. From the time civilization invented enterprise. I've hardly sold enough to pay myself. I've earned less than Oli earns before 4 pm when she starts work at 2. It's pathetic, but it's a one day job so it's fine.


Although, it's somewhat pleasant. There's something about writing on a scrabbly notebook surrounded by things which are so incongruous to your character that someone who knows you could hit you and apologize and still not realize who you actually are. And outside is Illuma, which looks like fireworks peripherally, and above is the glass ceiling through which you could see absolutely nothing but that's still pleasant. I guess it's made better by the idea that it's most likely a once in a lifetime thing, particularly because i'm NEVER gonna repeat this insanity again.