The Prequel-Grocer and Writer (Guy’s Perspective)

I’ve been here since Ten O’Clock in the morning. Tirelessly I place bottles and jars of salad dressing onto the shelves. I then pull the expired ones off, Not to many other workers do the latter. Of course, I have to walk the line while other employees get away with so much. If the owners and management at The Downtown Grocer would put more effort getting their older products sold before the expiration date, then maybe they wouldn’t have to take the losses and could afford to pay me more than eight dollars an hour. I hate this God awful job with a passion and am ever so thankful that tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I will be off.

I continue working into the evening, placing new jars and bottles of salad dressing and placing the numerous expired ones in a shopping cart.

As I work, I think about my miserable life, my desire to be a writer and my loneliness.

I’m twenty-two years old and always thought I would have done so much more by this point.

Both my loneliness and my God awful job are definitely sources of inspiration for my writing. I know I have a lot of strikes against me, being mildly Autistic, but if there would be someone who loved me for me and just gave me a chance, I would love her immensely in return and treat her with the utmost reverence. For now, I turn to my writing as an outlet for all these passions.

Now I am getting the urge to write, but unfortunately, there is still work to be done. I know tomorrow I will drive to the park, sit down on a bench and write until my heart is content.

I continue working, mentally trying to remember all of my inspirations coming to me in waves.

I’m finally done my cart. I look at my G-Shock, which indicates that it is now nine twenty-seven at night.

Now I have to help front and block all the aisles. This is to make the store look pretty. It may look pretty on the outside, but this miserable place is figuratively and sometimes literally rotting and stinking on the inside.

I assist the other stockers with the fronting and blocking.

There is enough of us to get it all done in forty-five minutes.

Exhausted I walk to to the time clock to punch out.

Suddenly, the assistant store director shouts, “Not so fast!”

I sulk.

“I need you to sweep the warehouse and take out the trash. If you clock out now, don’t bother to ever come back.”

Hurriedly I sweep the warehouse, then I place all the trash bags in the outside bin.

The assistant store director then says, “All right, you may go now, but get your butt here bright and early on Black Friday.”

I look at G-Shock. It is now two minutes after eleven.

I clock out then walk to my trusty old Toyota in the parking garage.

I unlock it, then enter and drive to my house.

Upon arrival, I park the car against the curb, then I enter my hurricane fence.

Hurriedly, I cut across my front yard in the brisk November night air.

I walk up against my steps, across my porch and into my front door.

Then I take off my work clothes and go straight to bed.

Hopefully, I will be able to write something beautiful tomorrow…

Back to “My [Non-Offensive] “Grocer and Writer” Pieces”

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