February 7, 2002 — A delicate balance

I probably shouldn’t be writing this. I should be dragging myself to bed and leaving it at that. But the day ended on such a frustrated note that I needed to talk about it with someone, and there’s no one for me to talk to right now. And since it’s days like today that caused me to start keeping a journal in the first place, I feel obligated to take advantage of them when they come. (This might be a partial explanation as to why I’ve been writing a bit less these past few weeks, though — plenty of people to talk to and to tell my stories to without telling everyone.)

The day got off to a very good start, and I’ve already written about much of it in my earlier journal entry: a package from my parents, a comment about Ned’s Atomic Dustbin from the mailman, and nothing to complain about at all.

Right after I posted this morning’s entry, I received an email from Shift Magazine that finally told me I didn’t get the internship I’d applied for with them. I’ve expected as much for awhile, so instead of being horribly disappointing, this just lets me get on with things. (Or at least that’s the positive spin I’m going with at the moment.) I’m free to start other projects again, knowing that it will be my fault and my fault only if I don’t finish them. Now it’s just a matter of convincing myself to get started...

Not long after reading my email, I left for work, sending out pins and picking up the mail on the way. There was a belated birthday parcel from Betsy (who you might remember from the old antigreg message board if you’ve been reading for long enough) waiting for me. I wanted to take it home, but I’d’ve been late, so I took it with me to work.

I arrived at work in a good mood, excited to open my parcel before my shift.

Inside Betsy’s parcel, I found a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack, a few homies, a mix CD, and a letter. She had told me in advance that the backpack would make me the coolest kid in Canada, and, while Nathan seemed less excited when he first saw it than I was, I’m inclined to agree with Betsy on this one.

Anyway. Work went well for quite awhile. Jeff and Amy dropped by and got smoothies; Jeff spilt his on his pants, which I guess might’ve made the trip less of a success for him, but I still appreciated the company.

There were only two of us working for most of the night. I’m starting to pick up the names of most of the regulars, which is an interesting side-effect of having a job that requires me to ask everyone’s name. This one extremely nice couple seems to come in whenever I have a shift; they always want non-dairy smoothies, and they ask me how work is going and if I like my job and how life is in general. I get the feeling that I’d be friends with them if we were the same age. The few people that are extremely nice make up for all of the rude ones, I think. Or at least they do most of the time...

But tonight didn’t fall into the “most of the time” way of things, and, fifteen minutes before closing, the exception to the rule stumbled in smelling of alcohol and crack cocaine. He didn’t have any of his front teeth, and he swore a lot. I made a smoothie for a regular, hoping that no one else would come in so that I could politely ask our heavily inebriated visitor to leave. The regular actually tried to get the man to leave, explaining the concept of loitering and inviting the man outside, saying he would teach him to dance. But it didn’t work.

Unfortunately, people kept coming in, and I had to monitor our visitor most of the time, saying things like, “Could I please ask you to stop trying to steal things, sir?” I’d asked him to leave several times, but he would just stare at me, becoming more aggressive the longer I held eye contact. He was openly leering at the girl I was working with, and we were both a bit on edge. The man looked like he weighed well over twice as much as I do, and he was considerably taller than me. If he weren’t so thoroughly intoxicated, he’d’ve probably known that he didn’t have to listen to a word I said, especially when I asked him to put back the things that he’d taken. If he’d left with them, I certainly couldn’t chase him down and take them from him...

But he did eventually leave. We’d spilt a smoothie in the nervousness of it all, and we weren’t able to lock the front door until ten minutes later than we’re supposed to, but I guess things could’ve been worse.

We finished cleaning the store twenty minutes later than expected and locked the door behind us. I walked the girl that I was working with until she met up with her friend. Then I went home, still a bit on edge.

Now that I’ve written about it, I feel kind of stupid for letting this bother me as much as it did. But I’m much less on edge and I think I’m ready to go to sleep.

So. Until the next time I’ve no one to talk to, then...