I might quit the Expensive Department Store. Denny's Donuts is dishing out the hours and my co-workers appear to be way more fun. I still cry on the way in for my shifts because my ego/self esteem/whatever is seriously aching, but I started thinking of story ideas and how being a dishwasher could work to my advantage in that regard, and I feel a little better. I have this essay I started in December about the allure of 24-hour eateries called "The Rockstar Menu" that I hit a serious roadblock on and haven't touched since last winter. Maybe this job, suckass though it may be, will jumpstart a revival.
I ran into the almost-valedictorian for my high school graduating class (2005, bitches!) at Wally World today. He has an MA in Education too, and he's currently a cashier. I'm always sad when I see him at Wally World because he was always smarter than me. He used to write the answers to biology quizzes on his arm and discretely shove them under my face when we were sophomores. Good man, that almost-valedictorian. I feel like I am at least in good company here in the dregs of post-collegiate employment.
He was too busy to really chat. We keep talking about getting coffee one of these days. We used to, ahem, play some D&D back in the day, and then we never saw each other during college, except for the occasional winter break encounter at the mall or something. I wanted to ask him what he thinks of his current plight, other than the standard "it fucking sucks" and what he thinks the point of it all is. After our encounter, the phrase "disposable souls" popped randomly into my head and wouldn't go away. I can't help but think that it currently describes Avery and I to a tee.
It isn't enough to simply wash dishes or register jockey until something "better" or "real" comes along. I want to know why and why us and why these particular jobs. Magic in the mundane and all that noise. My friend Sully once joked, "You are the only person I know who tries to turn a hangover into a religious experience" in response to my assertion that as much as I hate being hungover, the world always seems so much brighter, more vivid, and more beautiful when the barfing and the spinning and the migraine finally depart. So, I need to know that this whole dishwashing thing is more than just a stopgap until my great and brilliant destiny arrives. I need to know that it matters.
But then again, when I tell myself this is all just temporary, I'm honestly not sure what I'm referring to.