A Hangover Sunday

365 Days of Creativity

day thirty two

            The buzzing blared its way into my dreamless sleep. Alarm, snooze, repeat. I cut it close today, but dragged my ass out of bed. I pulled on clothes and put up my hair. No time for a shower so I looked like a photocopied version of myself from the night before. A thin layer of sparkles still dusted my chest, and I retraced the eyeliner that had faded in sleep. Classy. No time to eat so I grabbed bread and eggs to cook at work.

             I raced through the side streets, waking up the 'burbs with the sub in my car. If I have to be awake right now, so do you. I parked the car out back of work and slummed my way up the stairs. The stench of stale alcohol hit my nose and I held back a dry heave. God damn bottle recycling is kept outside. After successfully stifling my gag reflex I pushed into the staff room. My well stained apron slumbered in the locker. Two tums and a cup of OJ helped me prepare for the long day ahead. 

             I spread the toast out over 30 minutes, so I didn't shock my beer-abused stomach into showing it's inner self.  One customer, a regular. We spoke of movies and tv shows. Another customer ordered a beer at 10:30 am. I served it with a ten foot pole. Then nothing. I stood around and massaged the crick in my neck for the better part of an hour. Made an omelet with the eggs I brought. An inch away from taking a bite a group of seven walked in. 

            Big groups are generally good for business. They drink more, eat more, tip more. Not these guys. And why? Oh well they just happened to be from Kelowna. Because I really needed to be reminded of that city today. I served them quickly and hid in the back to eat my food. I zoned into the eggs and the onions and peppers and thought nothing of the town I had quickly left, or the boss breathing down my spasmed neck. 

           But as much as I tried to get lost in the cheddar cheese, my thoughts kept getting coaxed to Kelowna. To the people I had left behind. To the places I hadn't seen in months, voices I hadn't heard in weeks, faces I would never see again. Suddenly I wasn't so hungry any more. I was thankful for the lack of customers, even though at the end of the day I made only 16 dollars in tips, an insult. 

           I drifted through the day. My mind wandered the empty streets of Memory City. 

Hungry for sleep that I can't have, I let myself rest while others talk. The sound of a voice that isn't my own is more comforting than any bed. I crave noise. Not words really, just the waves of volume that engulf me and remind me that I'm not alone. Music, movies, traffic, rain. The proof that the world is real, that things keep moving even when I'm not. That the world will go on even when I'm dead.