Today I went to the 7/11 near me after work. There is a woman who works there who looks to be about 70 to even perhaps 90 years old. I came into line to ring up my items, two water bottles. There were two people in front of me, a morbidly obese man buying slushies and another man trying to pay for gas. The man trying to pay for gas had some sort of problem where he needed to be rang up again. Perhaps his payment just simply didn’t register the first time. The old woman had to rush between both of these orders herself. There was nobody else working the register with her.
I always ask how people are doing when they are performing labor for me. She said something about how she goes through an existential crisis every day. And about how sad it is that this is what we call “life”. I have this frustration in my brain where I want so badly to connect with people. I want to say the perfect thing that will make them aware that I understand their suffering. But the perfect thought never comes out. In the rush of the moment, all I could muster was to look down and solemnly state “I understand.” She responded “Yeah.”
I wonder if she felt like I meant it. I wonder if she felt as though I was just another apathetic customer just trying to get their shit and get out as fast as possible, and if she thought I said that so that I could end the conversation as quickly as possible. Maybe she wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible.
I wanted to talk about something else today. About something that had a message about a neurosis in American culture and young people. Some sort of reflection about something wide-scale. I don’t have the energy to. If I were to try and force writing something of that sort today, I would just be lying to you, the reader, and myself.
I screamed something in my car about hating America and my generation after purchasing my water bottles from 7/11. My anger felt so tangible. Like it would last to the point in time where I am sitting here now, writing this blog. Maybe it’s the fact that I downed some beer when I arrived home, but that stimulating surge of frustration I felt just isn’t present anymore. I’m tired tonight.