In far too many ways, life has suppressed me as of late. The world has left me strung out and tired, exhausted of all the things that I used to define myself by. I traded in writing words of meaning, to scribbling flawed equations. I hung up my guitar and picked up shifts at a part time job. I put my mental health on the line for academics. I feel so conflicted as I write this, because I’m doing just that – writing. It feels void and null and fruitless. As boney as my fingers that ache with starvation, for the wonderful words they used to spin. I used to be a writer, I think. Now, I’m not so sure.
But I did have a moment of enlightenment today, inside the dark confines of my dead-end-part-time job. I was serving a lady and her son, he couldn’t have been more than four. Having a child is already exhausting enough, back to school shopping is even worse I am sure. I noticed the tiredness in her eyes, but of course I didn’t mention it. Her son was cute. Really cute actually. Very quiet and almost seldom. I forgot to ring in one of the items (one of those weird, long erasers that don’t actually do anything) before proceeding to check her out (I’m not incompetent at my job, I’m just tired). The lady quickly returned and mentioned I forgot to ring it in, however, the customer behind her jumped it.
“Just add it to my bill.”
“Oh no, really it’s fine. I can do it.”
“No, just let me pay for it. It’s only an eraser.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much, really. Thank you.”
“No problem, dear.”
The Infamous Generation 