Bagged

Chapter 1

    I despised Tuesdays. I really did. Beyond the anger one might feel for Mondays, or the disappointment one might harvest from Sunday. I truly, truly despised Tuesday. It angered me the falsity that radiated from Tuesdays, they were only one day closer to the end of the week. Not as promising as Wednesdays, no shock like Thursday nor parties Friday had to offer. It was just Tuesday, bland and unpromising. 

    Not to mention Tuesdays also represented the very day I had to return to reality. The dreaded day I must haul my lanky body through the Manhattan transit all the way to my dreaded workplace. Better known as the Fairway Market, famously located on 12th avenue. Where everyone with a bank balance resembling a phone number was found shopping for their go to kale salads and pressed juices. The market wasn't a horrible place and truthfully I exaggerate, they paid me well to stand in one place and occasionally swipe an item under a laser. At $15 per hour and occasional tips, my life wasn't really that bad. Just I dreaded mornings, having to shock myself from my slumber at an enticing 5 am. Shower hurriedly to the tune of rusty pipes and possibly the skittering toes of mice.

    But never the less here I stood, precisely 6:32 am, with a freshly brewed latte in my left hand, and my transit fare tucked into my right pocket. Although I hated mornings I didn't dare not take the time to make myself presentable. Making sure my standard uniform white shirt was washed and slightly wrinkle free, my dark black jeans were hopefully stain free, a pair of pristine black vans adorned my feet and last but not least my hair. I don't mean to sound conceded, I really don't. But I take great pride in my "just woke up from bed" tousled look. Although I spend nearly twenty minutes daily preening and blow-drying it to a near state of perfection. If any one asks, "I woke up like this" spoken in the truest words of Beyoncé.

    Approaching the vendor, where I exchanged my beloved change for a ticket, I waited in silence to board the train. I often wondered how I got here. Hours away from my hometown in Minnesota. Hours away from a past I both reminisced over and ran from. I guess the running from the past brought me here. Brought me to a city I didn't really like, with people so paper you could read them clearly, money so tainted you could smell the blood.  But yet I'd rather stand among strangers than those malicious enough to claim they supported me. I'd rather support myself, applying for loans and working every spare minute I had. Thanks to all my work I now had a small studio apartment to myself and two more years of university. And of course plans to leave this city as soon as a degree and some experience were tucked firmly beneath my belt.

    Although Manhattan was skyscrapers above my past, I craved more. I craved a home and a heart. I wanted someone I could cuddle and spoil, maybe a dog or a cat. I wouldn't complain if there wasn't a pet either. But I ached to have a home. A place I could truly love to go home to. It's all thoughts and goals for my future, items I work towards. One day, one step and one coffee at a time.   

    While my mind wandered I thought of dreams and possibilities the train raced towards my destination. Or a block and a half away. On the racetrack of my thoughts I sped right by my reality. Now ensuring myself a late stamp and smack on the back of the head. I lazily jogged towards the store. Embracing the now comforting smell of freshly baked bread and produce, I took the stairs two at a time as I climbed onward to the staff lounge and lockers. Where I perfectly expected to be greeted by a begrudging manager. Pleasantly surprised, I wasn't technically late. I had just passed through the door as my deadline was met. My manager wasn't legally allowed to be upset and wasn't, thankfully.

    "Good morning Connor, cutting it a bit close today aren't we?" Skyler, my manager, pestered me with an obvious tone of annoyance.

    "Ah sorry Skyler! the ol'chariot was
experiencing a bit of difficulty" I replied sarcastically, referencing the ancient train that worked its hardest to bring me here. Although I was stretching the truth today. The train was always slow, I just forgot to pay attention.

    "I'd suggest you start catching an earlier train, or maybe swap your novelty coffee for one of ours" Skyler suggested with a sigh, if anyone he understood the trials of public transit. Having once been a low budget student like myself, he knew and understood the lifestyle.

    I shuddered at the thought of even ingesting the paint striper they attempted to pass off as coffee in the staff lounge. Often enough during the graveyard shift I'd consume a few cups. But then again I only worked the graveyard shift during the holidays. The thought of the graveyard shift reminded me of the fact I worked one tomorrow, 5 pm to 4 am. I'd better start emotionally, physiologically and physically preparing.

    "Hey Connor, you better have all the shelves on isle four restocked and front faced." Skyler yelled halfway down the stairs, obviously disappearing while I had been focused inwards. With a sigh I removed my layers and began making the trek to isle four. I really hated Tuesdays.