Sincerely, S.H

Chapter 10

I regret staying up late, but not quite as much as I regret the thoughts that stole several minutes of sleep from me. From the thoughts of my tormenting voice to the thoughts of Drake, I find that there are millions of more productive, or at least less painful uses of the brain. The words “human battering ram” come to mind. Regardless, I have work to do. Quickly, I shower and prepare to leave. Stephanie has already left. What luck! I haven’t seen her in over a day. This is the ideal roommate situation; never seeing her. If only this could last.

I feel like the perfect picture of an adolescent with total disdain for their job and no respect for it either. Most people can picture the teenager in their menial position with their hair askew and their demeanor unfavorable at best. The one’s whose job asks almost literally nothing of them, and they somehow manage to under-perform. Scientists have been unable to reach absolute zero, but teenagers in the fast-food or retail industries have found it, and they’re too lazy to tell anybody, and too ignorant to realize it’s important. Or perhaps they are too invested in the present and the necessities of life to care about possible implications of such a scientific discovery.

Perhaps I feel like this stereotype reflects my current state because I’m just too years too old for the situation to be an exact description of my current job as a bookstore cashier.

As usual, I arrive on time for the post, but nobody shows up for another several minutes. No sane person finds themselves in desperate need of highlighters, novelty coffee mugs or textbooks at eight o’clock in the morning.

Speaking of nobody sane, the first person to arrive, is the last person that I want to see. Or perhaps the first. Either or. “Hey Shauna,” greets the deep masculine voice of the second craziest person on campus. I know I’m the first for one, because I allow this person to manipulate me, and two, because I also hear voices in my head. At this point, though, I’m not sure which is more severe of an affront to my stability of mind.

“What can I get for you?” I ask in the most saccharine impersonal voice I can muster. I think that the words came out with far too much sarcasm, but I can’t say that that tone wasn’t warranted. Clearly, though, he doesn’t want anything that he can get from a shelf, because if he did, he would be getting it instead of leaning lazily on the checkout counter.

He shrugs. “Not much,” he says dismissively as he jumps up to sit on the counter before bringing his leg up so he looks as if he were attempting to pose for a fashion magazine or, given the location, a college brochure that went too far. If ever there is a more apt description of this boy than “a college brochure that went too far,” I might just owe the English language an actual round of applause. Literally, I would drop everything and clap to the heavens congratulating the English gods for their creation of a language that can accurately describe a person who is such an enigma to me. “So what do you do for fun around here?” he asks, flipping through a small keychain display sitting on the counter.

“Usually.” I clear my throat, as I eye his shoe sitting lazily on the recently clean counter-top. “Usually, I mind my own business, do my job, and make sure to always sit on anything but the counter-top.”

He grins in realization of my implication, but, unfortunately, he doesn’t move off of the counter. In fact, he brings his other leg up onto the counter as well, and he lays on his side and supports his head with his hand and looks me directly in the eyes with a challenge written in his. “Interesting. Tell me more about this boring existence of yours. I’m riveted.”

“Hey, you asked” I say as I shift a pen display slightly to the side to deprive him of the attention his demeanor is clearly begging for. Never mind the fact that I don’t want to be reminded of my dream or what happened yesterday and he is making forgetting these things very difficult. If I ignore him, though, maybe he will go away.