Work, Work, Make You Work

It’s funny that a town so small could have so many issues. Or maybe it is the fact that it’s small that makes it so chaotic. This morning, I had woken up to try to find another job. After being fired from my job at Forever 21 a week ago, I thought it was time to head into the working world again. God, I wish I hadn’t been so stupid to shoplift that scarf. But it was so cold outside, and I needed something to keep me warm. Right? My first stop is the Casa D’ Waffle. A restaurant with such a stupid name should be more than happy to hire a girl ready to work. We’ll see, wish me luck.

What do you know; I’m a bus girl. The cherry on top of my oh-so-unglamorous life. On the not so pessimistic side of things, I did meet a cute boy there. He was waiting to be seated while I was waiting to get a job, not that I let him know that. I think he said his name was something like Harry or Hank… I don’t know why I bother talking to guys though. I’m not a relationship person at all. Since my dad worked in china most of our childhood, we only had a long distance phone call thing, and although we are very close, I can’t exactly say that I trust him. My mother didn’t help that issue much either, seeing as she wasn’t even able to raise my brother and I. we lived with my aunt most of our childhood, at least until the social worker found out about her job at Isabella’s café…. Anyway, enough of a tangent. I got a job, it’s a good day!

Meaning?

It’s 9pm.

Tuesday.

I just left my apartment, sweet old 103. As I walk down the street and pass the leafy trees turning to dry sticks, I see a blind man sitting on a bench humming quietly to himself. There is an old copper bowl next to him with about a dollar in it. I am usually resistant to give people money if I don’t know where it will end up, but something tells me he has more to him than meets the eye. As the change hits the edge of the bowl the man turns to me and says, “Riddles -- all you can say are riddles, murk and darkness.”

My first reaction was pessimistic. I thought, “Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot do?” However, it only took me a moment to remember my twelfth grade literature class, sitting in the back by myself, actually doing something I was supposed to. I remembered reading that exact in a play we read. I think it was Oedipus Rex. It’s funny that he would choose that line; it’s probably one of the ten, maybe, which I actually remember. I wasn’t the most studious. This quote really stuck with me though. At the time, it seemed like the truth of it applied directly to me. At the time my life seemed full of riddles, or perhaps just questions. And confusion. So now I leave the man thinking, IS that all I can say?

Ring, ring...

The day started with a ring. Just like it did the day before, and the day before that, and everyday since I was eighteen and finally left my parent's not-so-humble abode. I slowly rolled over onto my back and used my fingers to get my eyelids to part. Why is it that no matter what time I go to bed 8 AM always seems earlier than it did the day before?

"Hey, it's Violet, sorry I missed your call, leave a message!" Finally the ringing had stopped. I had begun to wonder if it was just from the pounding headache in the front of my skull.

It was only moments later before the ring began again and I was forced to swing my hand over to the receiver.

"Hey, dad."

"Oh hello sweetie. I'm so glad you're awake!"

"Haha well I dont have much of a choice when you call the home phone."

"How have you been, how's the weather?"

"Well, I just woke up in a pool of sweat. Combined with the intense humidity I don't think my sheets will ever be dry."'

"Oh Violet, always the pessimism. How's your brother?"

"Who knows. We get along and hangout, but that's about it.

"Typical. Well, i just wanted to call and remind you how much i love you!"

"Love you too dad, talk to you later."

click.

I didn't set out to be a "daddy's girl." Something about my father's voice makes you want it to tell you that it loves you. Maybe it's his sincerity or even his sense of humor, but either way my dad and I have been best friends since as long as I can remember.

However, something that my father's voice cant do is cure a hangover. It was time for my second daily ritual, going back to bed. Good night sun. Or good morning...