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The murder of slow days
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2278
It's murder, this. My temper is short, I've almost entirely run out of patience, the solution, of course, is to leave and I'm resolved, I'm not returning after the vacation, but there's the caution, the memory of hard times too close to forget, the bills aren't yet fully paid, but it will be done one way or the other and I would prefer it be on good terms.
Hot, slow days in the restaurant, customers trickle in, they want to come late, stay later, we're not paid by the hour, there's no incentive to stay until the wee hours, already enough of our lives is stolen, it's trying this "So Happy to see you" game and my patience is wearing thin.
Time passes, each day the same, wake, coffee, bus to work, work, work, home, if I'm lucky the sun's still up, an hour or so on the computer, then to bed. Repeat. If my life were set to music it would be the Vuvuzela theme from the world cup.
The benefits, they haven't kicked in, administrative errors and they're not bringing it up, me either, I'll live.
But in my mind there's always the knowledge that it's the slow murder of innocent days.
Favorite Bench
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2037
It's the favorite bench by virtue of being the closest.
I sit there, book unopened, watching the sun set, brightly reflecting swarms of insects, snatches of conversation as the people pass, cool breeze, make notes in a notebook, it's treasured time as it's at most twice a week I get this, time alone, not on the computer, not at work, it's just me and my bench.
The Countdown
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1401
Every night, before the shift begin there's the countdown. Franco wants to know how many days there are until vacation.
I tell him. "There are X weeks and Y days".
We argue, he's sure I've got it wrong, there have to be less, and he goes to the calendar and double checks. I'm right. I'm not too bad at remedial math.
I tell him, a heads up, a warning, that I have no intent of returning after the vacation. The vacation is the end. I don't know what I'll do, I only know the job is killing me, that I can't be here day and night any more, that the vacation is the vacation and it's also the end, sometimes he agrees, he hates it too and thinks the same, other times he tells me that I'll never leave, that I'm one of them now, that I'll change my mind after the vacation and I think about another winter here, the 13 and 14 hour days without break or day off over Christmas, think about the cultural void of another missed theater season, think about not seeing the children, and it scares the hell out of me...
Hard Times
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1569
He wants to get a job but he's been too busy and I know what that's like.
We're out for coffee again, we see each other now maybe only once a month, time off, it's hard to come by.
He's broke and so I spot him breakfast, a couple hundred bucks, he's helped me through the same, and we catch up.
Nothing really new, he's been following the oil spill in the Gulf, it was a plan apparently on behalf of BP to kill off all the people in Mexico and the Southern States. Apparently they were attempting to explode a volcano or something, he's not too sure of the details.
And his outlook is greatly improved, Deeprak Chopra has done wonders for his spiritual advancement, he could spend his life studying his teachings...
But there's rent and final notices and other trifles to be dealt with, he needs a job. These are hard times.
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