How Bizarre Redux
The meds haven't kicked this sickness as much as I was hoping. I might, in fact, be able to attribute this whole day of bizarre to the cold medicine, maybe.
I clock in and check the schedule. Four people have called out. I rub my nose and start walking down the hall.
"You know those earrings aren't 'reg'."
I look behind me at the female coworker but don't say anything. I think about the word 'reg' and how inappropriate it sounds for so early in the morning. She doesn't say anything either. I actually consider keeping them in, they've been in since Christmas and no one has said anything. But I concede and take them out as we keep walking.
Sometimes, throughout the day it sounds like people are talking in slow motion. I watch their mouths move and I know I hear what they are saying, but I'm not processing. Maybe it's me who's moving in slow motion.
A supervisor succumbs to the sickness and leaves.
"I can tell you're sick by your eyes." I look at another coworker and don't respond to this either. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say.
I clock out and drive to the gallery. At a red light I notice a broken branch on a magnolia tree. I wonder if it's from the New Year's parade and envision a lively float with drunk people. One accidentally gets a piece of their costume stuck in the branch and it breaks. A car behind me honks their horn and I wonder how long I've been sitting at a green light imaging the plight of this broken branch.
I start my shift at the gallery right after work. I had purchased a box of lotion laced kleenex, mucinex, and a cup of soup. I settle in for the next 3.5 hours. I meant to bring my laptop but forgot it.
I'm not really familiar with the older gentlemen that I'm working with. I know he has a daughter my age and he's a woodworker. His name is Tom. We don't really talk much. After an hour or so I realize I've been staring at this nail on the wall. It's not the empty space where art should be hanging that gets my attention. It's the shadow of the nail.
I turn my head and Tom is outside. The door has been propped open. A news SUV has pulled up. I'm thankfully hidden behind a huge painting and kind of hunker down further when I realize they have a camera pointed at Tom. A lady is asking him his opinion on Florida's decision to allow same sex marriage. He thinks that it's an abomination and God did not create man and woman that way. It says so in the bible multiple times. He mentions his church a lot.
My eyes drift across the street to this couple that is arguing. A man is pointing his finger in this woman's face and she's backing up quickly but he keeps following her, never moving his finger. I think to myself that he's probably hit her before and I wonder what he's thinking in his head at that moment.
I look at the nail again. Then my eyes slide over to Tom who is once again sitting next to me. He's excited and saying that he's going to call his wife to tape the news. I grab a tissue and blow my nose all the while staring at his name badge and the gallery shirt... which is therefore going to be on the news associated with his opinion. He's obviously waiting on some kind of response. I kind of mumble, "Yeah, I heard."
I know I should be feeling things. Hell, probably even saying things to this man. Spouting political rhetoric and how equality is not based on some one's religion. But I don't. I don't even really think them. Instead I think about texting. Getting someone else's opinion. Sharing this moment that I've found myself in. But I don't do that either.
After his phone call he says, "You can tell you aren't feeling good. It's your eyes. Why don't you just skedaddle?" ( yes, he used that word). I didn't want to take this nicety from him. Not after what I heard. But I didn't want to be there any longer with him either. So I left.
I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, but my eyes look just the same as they always look. Every day.
I clock in and check the schedule. Four people have called out. I rub my nose and start walking down the hall.
"You know those earrings aren't 'reg'."
I look behind me at the female coworker but don't say anything. I think about the word 'reg' and how inappropriate it sounds for so early in the morning. She doesn't say anything either. I actually consider keeping them in, they've been in since Christmas and no one has said anything. But I concede and take them out as we keep walking.
Sometimes, throughout the day it sounds like people are talking in slow motion. I watch their mouths move and I know I hear what they are saying, but I'm not processing. Maybe it's me who's moving in slow motion.
A supervisor succumbs to the sickness and leaves.
"I can tell you're sick by your eyes." I look at another coworker and don't respond to this either. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say.
I clock out and drive to the gallery. At a red light I notice a broken branch on a magnolia tree. I wonder if it's from the New Year's parade and envision a lively float with drunk people. One accidentally gets a piece of their costume stuck in the branch and it breaks. A car behind me honks their horn and I wonder how long I've been sitting at a green light imaging the plight of this broken branch.
I start my shift at the gallery right after work. I had purchased a box of lotion laced kleenex, mucinex, and a cup of soup. I settle in for the next 3.5 hours. I meant to bring my laptop but forgot it.
I'm not really familiar with the older gentlemen that I'm working with. I know he has a daughter my age and he's a woodworker. His name is Tom. We don't really talk much. After an hour or so I realize I've been staring at this nail on the wall. It's not the empty space where art should be hanging that gets my attention. It's the shadow of the nail.
I turn my head and Tom is outside. The door has been propped open. A news SUV has pulled up. I'm thankfully hidden behind a huge painting and kind of hunker down further when I realize they have a camera pointed at Tom. A lady is asking him his opinion on Florida's decision to allow same sex marriage. He thinks that it's an abomination and God did not create man and woman that way. It says so in the bible multiple times. He mentions his church a lot.
My eyes drift across the street to this couple that is arguing. A man is pointing his finger in this woman's face and she's backing up quickly but he keeps following her, never moving his finger. I think to myself that he's probably hit her before and I wonder what he's thinking in his head at that moment.
I look at the nail again. Then my eyes slide over to Tom who is once again sitting next to me. He's excited and saying that he's going to call his wife to tape the news. I grab a tissue and blow my nose all the while staring at his name badge and the gallery shirt... which is therefore going to be on the news associated with his opinion. He's obviously waiting on some kind of response. I kind of mumble, "Yeah, I heard."
I know I should be feeling things. Hell, probably even saying things to this man. Spouting political rhetoric and how equality is not based on some one's religion. But I don't. I don't even really think them. Instead I think about texting. Getting someone else's opinion. Sharing this moment that I've found myself in. But I don't do that either.
After his phone call he says, "You can tell you aren't feeling good. It's your eyes. Why don't you just skedaddle?" ( yes, he used that word). I didn't want to take this nicety from him. Not after what I heard. But I didn't want to be there any longer with him either. So I left.
I go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, but my eyes look just the same as they always look. Every day.