I have a job, believe it or not.
It's a crappy one at a crappy gas station but surprisingly has decent amount of costumers flowing in and out. The manager/boss doesn't really give a two shits if I'm late or not, so it's a perfect place to work for a fair-ish pay. For this, I actually do show up almost on time, but never over twenty minutes unless something big comes up.
I only got a job when I finally realized that my mother doesn't care to feed me or anything anymore. My mother kind of drowned in her thoughts about forever being alone after my 'dad' left her. (She began her misery when I was at the age of five) My brother and I got jobs at the same time but at different places.
My boss knows I don't smile or laugh or anything that expresses happiness or excitement. (The only way my lips twitch upward is when I'm planning, or doing, something destructive.) So, he doesn't push me into being friendlier with the costumers.
However, don't think I'm some depressed fucker just because I'm neglected by my mother and never genuinely smiles. Don't misunderstand everything I just told you. I just think my life is moving way too slow for my liking, and it's taking way too long for something to actually happen. Plus, I was born in a generation filled with potential morons and idiots which leaves like a permanent scowl on my face.
A male costumer comes in with a grin stretching his pink lips as I give him a plain stare. (My eyes are cold enough to make you shiver with curiosity, and my lips are always in a straight line.) His grin fades from his lips and his brown eyes avert down onto the counter.
He asks for a pack of cigarettes and hands me three dollars, the amount for a pack. He talks over his words and keeps backtracking as if my plain stare is making him speechless.
During my free time/break, I write behind every cigarette pack, 'you're killing yourself, I hope your loved ones know the secret behind each flame.' It's not that I actually care that they are actually killing themselves, it's their choice, they knew that when they signed up. It's mostly to make them feel guilt. I mean, if they have a heart, they will.
He picks up the cigarettes, and first thing he does is flip them over to reveal the message, he give me a crooked grin. He walks out and shouts over his shoulder.
"Oh they do, but they don't seem to mind."
