Initially, I thought I was angry with the tall, thin, red haired boy who works the first window. He’s certainly deserving enough, what with the bored, monotone way in which he “thanks me” and hands over my change as if it’s a huge physical strain.
I get being bored, but this guy is too bored. He’s like every ridiculous apathetic fast food working in sitcom television. He’s comically bored. He’s bored in a way that some fictional character is bored. And it drives me crazy.
So, I was angry at him. At first. But then my anger shifted.
Yes, this is your fault. Not you, but “you” in some sort of collective sense. Suddenly, I realized my problem wasn’t necessarily with Mr. Sadness at the front window. My problem was actually with 200 people who’ve driven by the window before me on a given day. Sure, it’s a short experience – pull up, hand him money, get change, drive away. But has anybody leaned into the second window and said, in a gracious way,
“Your first window guy needs to dial down the emo…”?
And that’s when I realize that I’m not made at him. Or even you.
I’m mad at me.
‘Cause I’m the one writing about it. I’m the one noticing it. And I’m the one who gets indignant only long enough to get my chocolate shake. Then I’m out of there.
It’s not your fault or the manager’s fault or even the kids fault completely…it’s mine. All mine.
And that’s why I’m a loser.
Now, who’s feeling emo, huh?