FicWad

Have you ever heard the expression 'time flies when you're having fun'? Well, it isn't true. Time is measured in the same intervals whether you're overwhelmed with enjoyment or bored out of your fucking mind. It just so happens that you tend to pay attention to time more when there's a lack of amusement than when there isn't. The trick is to trick yourself. That or never look at a clock so that you'll be unaware of time completely.

I was unsure of how long I had been at work. I had no idea of when my breaks were and I was clueless as to how long it would be until I got off. It may sound absurd, but this way works best for me. Time is completely irrelevant. I just float through space until I was sure my shift was over, then I drag myself over to the time clock and force myself to look. Sometimes I get lucky and over shoot my shift by an hour. When that happens I'm able to receive over time and I didn't make myself miserable by counting down minutes and wondering how long it would take me to bleed to death if I stabbed myself with those annoying little sensors we put on clothing to make sure no one steals from our store. This way I feel better about life. Whatever works, I say.

"Hey, can you tell me where you got your shirt?" I was so overwhelmed by my thoughts that I almost had the pleasure of forgetting I was at work. Almost.

I had forgotten what I was even wearing, so I looked to clarify.

"Oh, I got it here about two years ago. We don't sell it anymore." I told the girl with the obnoxiously large belt around her waist. The truth was, I wasn't sure where this shirt came from anymore, but I have learned a few things from working in retail for as long as I have. You don't actually have to tell the truth, you just have to sound like you are. I was beyond good at sounding like I spoke the truth.

Retail. If you ever get a chance, don't. I work in a high volume, trendy clothing store right in the heart of downtown. I'm sure you heard of it and for that reason I refuse to tell you what it is. It's hip, it's in, it's stylish, all in an underground type way, only with mainstream prices. Only the cool know about it and indie magazines praise it. It's fashion and I couldn't give a damn about it other than it pays the rent.

"Do you guys have any other Penny Kenny boots left other than what's on the floor?" This girl had black skinny leg denim, with some vintage grey cowboy boots, a short fashion mullet, and an empire waisted shirt I recognized from this very store three months ago. Instantly, I wanted to shave her head.

"Let me go check in the back for you." I faked energetic and she smiled unappreciatively. I see kids like her in here all the time. They spend more money than necessary to look the way they do. You can call them 'scene' if you'd like, but I prefer to call them fucking morons. Her vintage cowboy boots probably cost more than my rent, and her mullet? It's made to look as if she cut it herself and just rolled out of bed, but my instincts tell me that the trendy, overpriced salon down the street made that possible for her.

I made it halfway half way to the back of the store when I saw him. It was when he angled himself just right that I noticed he was with her. Suddenly, my whole theory about tricking yourself seemed unimportant. I was very aware of time again and it was moving much too slowly. I was actually no longer sure it was moving at all and i had a strong need to find out. I walked quickly to the back to find out when my break was.