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Something new pt. 3
When I was a little boy, I remember watching the footage of the Oklahoma City bombing over and over and over again. The charred children. The massive smoldering hole in the building. Worries about my father.
John was dropped off by Judy back at the house. Judy went off to her job. John didn't know what she did at her job, but he knew she was at an advertising firm and she worked in the back away from all of the people dressed up in clothes that say "I'm a go-getter!"
Judy often complained about people at work. John thought that she dressed the way she did to annoy them, though she'd never admit it. "I'm just expressing myself" is what she would say. Her nuclear bright red hair, facial piercings, and ratty band tee-shirts and "weird art" shirts put a barrier between her and, well, everyone really.
John sighed. I have no barriers. He heard a robotic voice in his head. I HAVE NO BARRIERS AND I WILL DESTROY YOU EARTHLINGS. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? John sighed again. It was time to go to work.
Evening shift at generic retail warehouse store. Generic polo shirt embroidered with generic company logo purchased with generic money removed from generic paycheck. Generic customers. Generic music. Generic lighting. Generic asshole managers.
They found 168 bodies. They found an unidentified leg. A human leg severed from a body that was never found. A leg was found and identified as belonging to a woman buried in New Orleans. They pulled her out of the ground and placed the leg in her coffin, and removed the incorrect leg that was in her coffin. The removed leg had been embalmed and no one knows who it really belongs to. A leg devoid of context.
John felt like throwing up. He imagined people passing in and out of existence like whispering echoes of tree branches scratching old windows. He imagined his life a fraud with his best friend an aborted memory removed from time. His loneliness a condition of fractal matrices coalescing around the dark matter of his existence.
In two weeks, John will finish his summer job at Generic Company and go back to college to finish his senior year. He will have a degree in anthropology. He will have no idea what he will do with his degree, but he knows for sure that he does not want to work at Generic Company anymore. That is two weeks from now.
John arrived at Generic Company and went to the employee's lounge. He looked at the clock. 1:53. It was against the rules to swipe in more than five minutes before your shift started. John went over to the vending machine and pushed buttons. John went over to the employee training computer and pushed buttons. John went over to the television and changed the channel to Oxygen for ironic reasons. John swiped in and walked across the store to his department. He looked at the master sheet. Lunch in five hours. John hated that, why couldn't it always just be right in the middle of his shift four hours in?
John had to find a manager to tell him what to do. There were three managers on duty right now. He hated all of them. They had no idea what they were doing. They often yelled at John for doing what they asked him to do. John's favorite manager was Young Manager. He understood that everything they did was bullshit, so he found ways to keep people busy that was not quite as degrading as what the other managers came up with. John went and found Young Manager.
"Hey John, you got your phone?" He smirked. They both hated phones.
"Yeah."
"We got a big shipment in of garden bricks. Go make a garden display with the garden bricks. Make sure to put up the sign that says how much those bricks cost."
"Great, so I get to take them off the palette and then put them back on when someone buys them."
"You got it. Have fun."
John went to the garden section. Sure enough there were new palettes of bricks. John knew where to build the display, because they had one there a few weeks ago until someone came and bought all of the bricks. John had previously built the display, and put all of the bricks on a palette to put in the guy's pick-up truck that bought all of the bricks. John put on gloves, got a palette lifter, and dragged the palette to where he was going to make the display.
"JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808 PLEASE. JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808." That was the closing manager. He was The Worst Manager of all. He always told everyone to call him using the intercom. He knew every one's phone numbers, but he liked to make people call him. John always was doubly annoyed at these announcements because his last name is Russo, and no matter how many times he told The Worst Manager "it is Rus-so" it didn't take.
John called 2808. "Hello."
"John, what are you doing?"
"Building a display in Garden."
"Could you come to Electronics please?"
"Ok." It wasn't a question.
John walked across the store. Each day John figured he walked about eight miles, if not more. The Worst Manager was standing there waiting for him.
"Hey John," his voice had an annoying drawl to it, "We are having an inspection tomorrow and we need to make sure every item over twenty dollars has a security tag on it. Could you go through these aisles and make sure everything is tagged?"
"Ok." It wasn't a question.
John spent an hour pulling item after item off the shelf into a shopping cart, looking for tags, and then putting the items back on the shelf. When John finished he had only put three security tags on items that weren't properly tagged. He went back to build his display in Garden.
The Young Manager called him. "John you done yet with the display?"
CNN played a live feed of the memorial. "Taps" and speeches and crying wives, mothers, children, and other family and friends. There was footage of the makeshift monuments of love. Flowers, children's drawings, photographs, and keepsakes pressed together.
"No. I'm just getting started." John knew he wouldn't like that.
"What the hell! What have you been doing?" John imagined his face exploding.
"I was told to stop what I was doing to check security tags in Electronics."
"Are you fucking shitting me? I had someone do that yesterday!"
"Sal told me to. Talk to him about it."
"Build that fucking display and don't go anywhere. If anyone tells you to go somewhere else call me first."
"Ok."
John worked on building the display. It was exhausting moving bricks for so long, and moving plants around. Time ended. Eventually it was "lunch time." John slid his time card in at 7:02 and went to the deli and got a burrito. At 7:35 he got a call on the intercom again, even though he told The Worst Manager he was on his lunch break and The Worst Manager made the schedule and could look at it himself. He didn't call back. John went back and slid his time card in at 8:02. He would finish working the rest of the night without thinking. He would systematically organize each shelf without thought. He would talk to The Worst Manager minimally without thought. And he would go home without thought.
John was dropped off by Judy back at the house. Judy went off to her job. John didn't know what she did at her job, but he knew she was at an advertising firm and she worked in the back away from all of the people dressed up in clothes that say "I'm a go-getter!"
Judy often complained about people at work. John thought that she dressed the way she did to annoy them, though she'd never admit it. "I'm just expressing myself" is what she would say. Her nuclear bright red hair, facial piercings, and ratty band tee-shirts and "weird art" shirts put a barrier between her and, well, everyone really.
John sighed. I have no barriers. He heard a robotic voice in his head. I HAVE NO BARRIERS AND I WILL DESTROY YOU EARTHLINGS. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? John sighed again. It was time to go to work.
Evening shift at generic retail warehouse store. Generic polo shirt embroidered with generic company logo purchased with generic money removed from generic paycheck. Generic customers. Generic music. Generic lighting. Generic asshole managers.
They found 168 bodies. They found an unidentified leg. A human leg severed from a body that was never found. A leg was found and identified as belonging to a woman buried in New Orleans. They pulled her out of the ground and placed the leg in her coffin, and removed the incorrect leg that was in her coffin. The removed leg had been embalmed and no one knows who it really belongs to. A leg devoid of context.
John felt like throwing up. He imagined people passing in and out of existence like whispering echoes of tree branches scratching old windows. He imagined his life a fraud with his best friend an aborted memory removed from time. His loneliness a condition of fractal matrices coalescing around the dark matter of his existence.
In two weeks, John will finish his summer job at Generic Company and go back to college to finish his senior year. He will have a degree in anthropology. He will have no idea what he will do with his degree, but he knows for sure that he does not want to work at Generic Company anymore. That is two weeks from now.
John arrived at Generic Company and went to the employee's lounge. He looked at the clock. 1:53. It was against the rules to swipe in more than five minutes before your shift started. John went over to the vending machine and pushed buttons. John went over to the employee training computer and pushed buttons. John went over to the television and changed the channel to Oxygen for ironic reasons. John swiped in and walked across the store to his department. He looked at the master sheet. Lunch in five hours. John hated that, why couldn't it always just be right in the middle of his shift four hours in?
John had to find a manager to tell him what to do. There were three managers on duty right now. He hated all of them. They had no idea what they were doing. They often yelled at John for doing what they asked him to do. John's favorite manager was Young Manager. He understood that everything they did was bullshit, so he found ways to keep people busy that was not quite as degrading as what the other managers came up with. John went and found Young Manager.
"Hey John, you got your phone?" He smirked. They both hated phones.
"Yeah."
"We got a big shipment in of garden bricks. Go make a garden display with the garden bricks. Make sure to put up the sign that says how much those bricks cost."
"Great, so I get to take them off the palette and then put them back on when someone buys them."
"You got it. Have fun."
John went to the garden section. Sure enough there were new palettes of bricks. John knew where to build the display, because they had one there a few weeks ago until someone came and bought all of the bricks. John had previously built the display, and put all of the bricks on a palette to put in the guy's pick-up truck that bought all of the bricks. John put on gloves, got a palette lifter, and dragged the palette to where he was going to make the display.
"JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808 PLEASE. JOHN RUSCO CALL 2808." That was the closing manager. He was The Worst Manager of all. He always told everyone to call him using the intercom. He knew every one's phone numbers, but he liked to make people call him. John always was doubly annoyed at these announcements because his last name is Russo, and no matter how many times he told The Worst Manager "it is Rus-so" it didn't take.
John called 2808. "Hello."
"John, what are you doing?"
"Building a display in Garden."
"Could you come to Electronics please?"
"Ok." It wasn't a question.
John walked across the store. Each day John figured he walked about eight miles, if not more. The Worst Manager was standing there waiting for him.
"Hey John," his voice had an annoying drawl to it, "We are having an inspection tomorrow and we need to make sure every item over twenty dollars has a security tag on it. Could you go through these aisles and make sure everything is tagged?"
"Ok." It wasn't a question.
John spent an hour pulling item after item off the shelf into a shopping cart, looking for tags, and then putting the items back on the shelf. When John finished he had only put three security tags on items that weren't properly tagged. He went back to build his display in Garden.
The Young Manager called him. "John you done yet with the display?"
CNN played a live feed of the memorial. "Taps" and speeches and crying wives, mothers, children, and other family and friends. There was footage of the makeshift monuments of love. Flowers, children's drawings, photographs, and keepsakes pressed together.
"No. I'm just getting started." John knew he wouldn't like that.
"What the hell! What have you been doing?" John imagined his face exploding.
"I was told to stop what I was doing to check security tags in Electronics."
"Are you fucking shitting me? I had someone do that yesterday!"
"Sal told me to. Talk to him about it."
"Build that fucking display and don't go anywhere. If anyone tells you to go somewhere else call me first."
"Ok."
John worked on building the display. It was exhausting moving bricks for so long, and moving plants around. Time ended. Eventually it was "lunch time." John slid his time card in at 7:02 and went to the deli and got a burrito. At 7:35 he got a call on the intercom again, even though he told The Worst Manager he was on his lunch break and The Worst Manager made the schedule and could look at it himself. He didn't call back. John went back and slid his time card in at 8:02. He would finish working the rest of the night without thinking. He would systematically organize each shelf without thought. He would talk to The Worst Manager minimally without thought. And he would go home without thought.
posted by Will at 1:18 PM
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