People aren't trash; they are medical waste. I sometimes regard the general public as nothing more than a revolting throng of carbon copied fools intoxicated by the ignorant conviction of their worthiness. I'll forgo referring to them as animals, as this would be an insult to my kitten. Since age 17, I have had the escruciating displeasure of working with the public at the expense of precious brain cells.
For the 0.8 of you still reading, it is crucial to make the distinction between individuals and the general public. A single pirhana may be a charming pet, or at least a whimsical conversation piece. Toss the toothy bundle of love in with a swarm of his own and he'll help disembowel your children. The general public, especially in customer form, is an overbearing army of intellectual cannibals. On occasion, they punch through my thin wall of sanity. Some days at work bludgeon my feeling, or facade, of being normal. Yesterday's marathon shift is a prime example. At some point, I became overwrought and desperate for sweet solitude. Their eyes, voices and mere presence overwhelmed me. Tense, wide-eyed and soft spoken with a short fuse, I was afraid that I looked as crazy as I felt. I've always tried to keep my insanity a secret at work.
One memorable day this October, I came to work at 6 a.m. One hour later, I was verging on either a mental breakdown or running out of the store. Their presence disgusted me on every level. In typical form, each repulsive one of them made the same remarks as the previous customer. Paramountly, they had interrupted my smoking while a superior grocery store was right across the street. Attention Albertson's shoppers: by interrupting my train of thought, you have just traded in every good thing you've done. Their eyes seemed to tax my sanity and pierce me. Their skin looked hideous.
When you see untolled thousands of people all doing and saying the same things, you fully realize that nobody is special. With the possible exception of well-assed women, we are all visually offensive. The masses are clueless, dirty and unworthy. When I was a waiter, at least people served some function in my world. These perhaps irrational thoughts bumrushed me that morning. I was disgusted to the point of freaking out. A swirling aura of sorts familiar from previous workdays environed me. I became beside myself and felt a bit consumed. I sensed a soupcon of disorientation that I first experienced at work seven years ago.
At work three days later, the modest volume of customers drove me to the edge. The reverberations from their voices sounded like a farm animal being brutalized. I considered walking off the job. Either I was better than that or I didn't have the balls. I thought of subsequently staying in my bedroom for the forseeable future, perhaps venturing out only late at night. My roommate would be forbidden to speak to me or enter the bedroom.
I'm not always like this at work. Hints of these feelings are generally present, but the more pronounced lunacy comes in phases. I have always craved solitude. More precisely, I need time alone with my thoughts, preferably for hours each day. Some times more than others, I need to live in a world somehow created or enhanced by my thoughts. Some of these thoughts are fatalistic, self-destructive and possibly paranoid. Nevertheless, they are an integral part of my lifestyle. As a creative person, I believe this seemingly aimless cerebral barrage is to be embraced and glorified.
Through seven tornadic years of desperate cashiering, the general public has tested the limits of my psychological endurance. Although a vice to some, human interaction can be among the most grueling activities. Maybe keeping a shit job shouldn't be this difficult. Maybe I should get over myself. Surely every cashier is borderline miserable at work. Caged in my deteriorating checkstand, I'm just like every other worker; annoyed and dying to clock out. Unfortunately, I'll never be rich enough to work and live in the isolation I have always sought. Of course, it's not just me. How much do you really disagree with the first paragraph?