Notebook 013

Money In, Money Out (An Extract)
Journal Entry: Sat Jul 8, 2006, 1:56 AM
[this is an rough form of what could trun into some kind of book/story]

Again the girl, who I can't quite figure out if she's 'special' (in a derogatory sense) or not, tries too hard. The widening of her eyes as she notices I've turned the corner and the few seconds between this and speech, where she runs it over briefly and hopes that it will be as epic as she has been planning these past few days, make me both sympathise and want to be sick on her face at the same time.
"Y'all right?" It isn't epic in any sense.
"Yeah. Are you?"
"Not bad tha.." A closed door cuts off her sentence. I can hear the air escaping her posture and her enthusiasm plummet and splat on the floor next to the swept up dirt and discarded wrappers. You could call it harsh because I knew I wasn't going to put myself out for conversation for anybody. Fifteen fucking minutes late and the boss has already had me in the office twice this month. She will cope.

The endless monotomy of the simple and small five hour shift delivers wholesomely again. The flurescent lighting floods against stagnant plastic displays sucking all sense of time out of the surroundings. Tiny digital displays blink repeatedly at every corner, monitoring and re-monitoring the smallest of anomalies that could bring the mega-chain empire to a temporary standstill. God knows the uproar it would cause if Mr. Brown's pre-packed reformed bacon was one degree above recommended temperature storage. Heads would roll, and the worst part is; I'm not joking.

Bargain after bargain and special offer after special offer keep your eyes from settling. Sometimes I feel like I've read a novel just looking around for a few minutes, except this one's on bright glossy pages, there's no punctuation everybody's looking over your shoulder. People wander in and out, except I can't see the entrance or exit, so realistically they just pass. The only distinction between new and old customers, is the void in their trolley, and even round these parts it's not much to be counted for.

Distinction. Nobody has any outstanding character from the person following twenty minutes behind them. They do, purely on aesthetic value, but that goes for every runt and aristocrat born onto this planet. My eyes can't help but notice details, it's just my brain that seems to count it all as irrelevant information. It's taken me two years though, to figure out why every supposed 'individual' blends into a moving veil of trolleys and fabric: nobody sells. As soon as they walk through the open doors, air conditioning gust and security bollards, they seem to loose any sense of self. Apart of course from the guy who always gets the trolley that steers to the left, but after a few curses and steps outside to get another one, he blends in just like the rest. Their eyes and minds become so consumed on what is available that they loose any natural sense of body movement and become towed along by retinas two foot ahead of their bodies. This constant droning makes them all extremely cold and unaware to anyone else around them and I can't help but laugh as lady after gentlemen bangs into the tiny little metal bollard at the corner of the aisle, and literally shits themself at the loud crash. Almost a highlight of the shift you might say, apart from the given; the end.

Twenty to five. I begin to walk home. The air's temperament and the last few flitting signs of daily custom turn peripheral. A paperboy lathargically meanders through B&Q special offer gardens and financed cars, wishing to God he could just fucking throw it like they do in the movies. A middle aged couple sharply approaching retirement, walk their fat little dog in a bid for for improved health and daily structure. Their drifting conversation beats heavily to the third re-iteration of what the younger generation doesn't deserve and persistently, with lack of any convinction, the husband agrees. Nodding like a cheap balding carsill dog, he just wishes she'd shut the fuck up and pick the dog shit up for once.