I'm going to put these words away, now. I want to experience some facts, now! and for once. Today I am going out in the world, but with a bike for the weather's too much for experience. I'd feel guilty leaving it behind.
When I last looked for employment, I went on a long, rainy january carride to beaverton. It was a westy's, or maybe... are there westy's in beaverton? It was a big bowling alley, supercorporate. I fell in love immediately. I fell in love driving, actually, the rain beating against shoddy wipers, the cliffs of the freeway climbing, climbing in the dark around, and the forest surrounding. I thought beaverton might be a romantic little sanctuary, buried in the lush of north oregon, the layers of soil and dirt brimming with life, earthworms, beetles, ferns of every sort. But was I surprised, then? After the long drive I knew that if my future workplace was in fact going to be this particular bowling alley, my forced lunches & dinners would be fries and outback steaks.
But my confidence! oh, I knew it, I just knew they'd want me. I was perfect. I would wear skirts, and have a nice haircut, and I'd be younger & cuter than the rest, and the patrons at the westy's bar would just love me. I'd keep the crowds thick. I'd keep them coming. Of course they'd see this clearly! The line in which I waited for my three-minute interview was one-hundred people long.
Today, I have this path to go along the boise river, and somewhere, over in the worthlessness of parkcenter boulevard, I'll creep alongside the red robin, smile a smile I can smile, and show them how fucking retardedly able to welcome rich douchebags to a restaurant am I. How capable, and how thrilled, even! I can smile and smile and smile. Just keep the bruise-tattoos and armpits to a minimum. Minimum is a pretty word.
