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The Bored Young Man Behind the Registers
At work, as I stand behind the registers of the bookstore, I self-pollinate my own womb with words I must write into a book. As I stand there thinking, I can feel a book growing inside of me, squirming and swimming around inside my soul. A book of life. My own child. And as I stand there behind the registers rubbing my swollen belly, do you know what those bastard customers do to me? Just as I am feeling complete and bonding with my child, I am suddenly confronted by a stinging pain. I shriek and see a customer smiling while she removes her hand from the hat pin she just shoved deep into my womb, wounding my fetus by saying, “Now you look like a bored young man who needs to ring me up,” or ” You look like you are just waiting to look up a book for me.” Inside I scream. I scream for the words she has killed so ignorantly with her rude condescending comment. Look what you have done to my child! Look what you have done! You have killed half the words! Precise words that are irreplaceable! Do you think I am a mindless robot here to serve you? I am not bored! I am a writer and I am writing and you could have simply asked me nicely to ring you up! But no, you have insulted me! You have angered me! If I could breath fire I would burn the lips right off your face! It is a good thing I am not a God or I would make you suffer! But instead, I smile and say, “What can I do for you?” While inside my head I am taking hammers to the glass countertops of the service counters. Sparks and smoke! I smash the monitor screen with a wickedly friendly false smile and say, “Let me ring that up for you.”
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