Pure Frustration

Pure Frustration


         “How are you feeling today Fred?” Carl asked me as I walked into work that morning. 'Surly and belligerent, as always.' I though, but instead I said, “I'm good. How are you?”
         “Good, good. Last night I ... “ he kept on talking but I ignored him. He never said anything important anyway, he just liked to talk. Maybe silence scared him, maybe he just needed attention, either way he never stopped yapping. He went on jabbering even when customers came in. He just switch to yakking at them. Joking and telling stories like they were old friends. I guess people like that. It would have annoyed the shit out of me. When I go shopping I want to get in and get out. I don't need help, I don't want it. And I certainly don't want to be chatted up by some stranger. But that's what they call customer service nowadays.
         The phone rang while I was watching Carl tell the customers the story about his gall bladder. Since I was closest to the phone I answered it. “Hello, Northport Gifts.” I said.
         “Yea, is this Northport Gifts?”
         'What the hell do you think I just said moron?' I wanted to say, instead, “Yes this is Northport Gifts, how can I help you?” And so the day went on. Every hour, no every minute, every mind numbing second I spent in that store wore on my nerves. Every day my usually thick skin would get worn down until the bloody rage underneath would threaten to seep through. At night I would rest and renew the layer of cool indifference I needed to get through the day. However, unlike real skin, which when worn eventually develops a tough protective callus, I could feel the skin of my patience rubbing thiner day by day.
         Business was slow. Business was always slow. Not that it mattered. The crap we sold was so overpriced we only needed a few sales a day to stay open. The shear lack of any activity made want to bang my head on the counter in boredom. Seeing my own blood pool on the cheep lament wood would at lest be more interesting. Beside me Carl, no longer having any customers to bother/serve, was drowning on and on about some undoubtedly inane thing. Sometimes I wanted to reach into his head, pull out his tongue, cut it off with one of our $200 gold plated letter openers, stuff it in a $100 belted leather wallet and mail it to Abudabi. Although knowing my luck, the phantom of his dismembered tongue would come back to haunt my dreams with it's endless spectral chattering.
         How did I end up here in this hoidy toidy mall selling luxury gifts to yupes, 40 year old brats, and silver spoon feed twits? Did I spend four years in collage for this? So I could have the life sucked out of me by florescent bulbs and track lighting?
         “Wow this is expensive.” A customer said as she looked at a $80 pen, our cheapest one. Behind her Carl rolled his eyes. Obviously there must be something wrong with a person that wouldn't spend $80 on a pen. I wouldn't. I wouldn't spend $5 on a pen. A box of pens maybe, but not one pen.
         Oh how I longed to be free. Free from the unreasonable customers, and snooty coworkers and most of all free from this horrible wretched tie! The symbolic chain of my oppression, the soft fabric noose that chocked off all hope and ambition. Why did I have to wear a tie anyway? Do I need it to say yes mama, yes sir, to bow and scrape and step and fetch it. I was like the doting Gunga Din but instead of bringing water at the beck and call of English solders, I brought leather brief cases, brass bookends, and marble chess sets for over paid stiffs in suits. My only consolation was that like Gunga Din, I was the better man serving rude and impatient masters.

         That night I went home to my girlfriend, the only thing not crappy in my life. Her name was Kailey. I had meet her 2 years ago, back when I still had dreams.
         “Carl would not shut up today.” I said as we ate. “And he's always all over the customers”
         “Didn't he have the highest sales last year?” she said, tossing her long dark hair over her shoulder.
         “Yea, so.”
         “I'm just saying he must be doing something right.”
         “Who's side are you on anyway?” I asked as I jabbed my fork into the chicken breast on my plate, as vigorously as if I were stabbing the hated Carl instead. Although I'm sure the chicken, when alive, never clucked as much as Carl did.
         “I'm on your side of course,” and she sighed as she put down her silverware. “It's just that you've been there a while. Maybe it's time you really put some effort in it.”
         “Why would I want to do that? I can't stand that place.”
         “You know what your problem is, Fred? You think you're to good to be working there.”
         “No, it's not that I think I'm to good to work there...” I said, “it's that I am to good to work there.”
         “Then prove it Fred,” she said, as she stood up and cleared her dishes. “You always talk and complain, but you never do anything.”
         “What am I supposed to do?” I shouted as she walked into the kitchen. I heard her put the dishes in the sink, then she came back to the doorway.
         “You could get another job,” she said.
         I threw up my hands, the chicken stayed down luckily, “You think I haven't tried? Do you know how many jobs I've applied for?” 'And how many times I've been turned down, how many times I've been told I'm not good enough. Do you know what that feels like?' But my pride wouldn't let me say that to her.
         “When?” she asked arms akimbo, “When was the last time you tried?”
         I sat for a while with my mouth open. I couldn't remember. How long had it been? I guess after all the failures and rejections, I'd just stopped trying.
         Kailey sighed again, “What ever you do I'll support you. I just want you to stop making yourself unhappy.”
         After that she went to the bedroom. I don't know if she slept or what. She was right, which was frustrating. For over a year I had tried to find something I could be happy doing, but always go turned down. That was frustrating. I ended up taking a job as a sales clerk just until I could find something better, and I ended up staying there for over two years. That was very frustrating. However, the most frustrating thing of all, when you got right down to it, was that I was right where I belonged, and that's where I'd stay until I did something about it. I stayed up late that night thinking about what Kailey had  said, and about what I should do. I couldn't think of anything that night. So the next day I dragged myself off to work like always... except this time I left the fucking tie at home.