A Typical Day at Work
Want to get inside my mind as I go through an ordinary work day? Too bad, because I'm going to tell you, whether you like it or not!
12:01 am: I'm finally go to sleep. I was going to go to bed at 10 pm, maybe even 9, but one thing led to another, and here I am, past midnight. Oh well, no matter what time I go to bed, I'm always miserable when I wake up. Might as well enjoy the precious few hours I've got left...
6:00 am: And there goes the alarm clock. Sometimes, I'm so tired, I forget what an alarm clock is, much less how to turn the damn thing off. I'm just going to lie here for 20 more minutes...
6:15 am: Dad comes in: "Cameron, you awake?" "*groan* Yes." I reply. "Okay, just checking..." Now I'd better get up. I take off all the bracelets and arm decorations, which always takes at least three minutes. Maybe I should take these off before I go to sleep. Might save me some time... Oh well, I'm too lazy to do that. Take off the Rainbow Dash pajamas. I suppose in my mind, this symbolizes leaving myself behind, as in a few short minutes, I'll be off to the torture chamber, aka McDonald's.
6:23 am: I'll take off the watch and hop in the shower. As I stand here in the warm stream of water, my mind races, trying to think of a way to get out of going to work. Of course, there is none. There's never any hope, no possible way I can weasel out of working today. I'll trudge into work like I do every day, feeling depressed and empty.
6:41 am: Out of the shower I go. Grab the towel.
6:45 am: Take off the towel, put on the watch. Now I begin my transformation from Cameron Reed into McDonald's Employee #123. First underwear and socks (obviously), pants, belt, shirt, and finally the hat. The hat is always a bit complicated. I've got to try and stuff my shoulder-length hair into a tiny little baseball cap. They hate long hair at McDonald's, at least, long hair on men. They talk about "gender equality" and all that crap, but of course they get on my back for having long hair, even though all of the female employees have hair much longer (and sometimes messier) than mine. Sure, we're all equal, the women are simply more equal than the men...
6:50 am: "Ready to go, Cam?" The only reply I can manage to force out of my lips is "Nngh." My dad knows what I mean.
6:58 am: I've arrived. My dad waves goodbye, eagerly telling me: "Have a good day, Cam!" "Ergh." I weakly grunt back. I yank open the door, go into the lobby, I'm here. Punch in my number, Cameron Reed is dead and gone, only McDonald's Employee #123 remains.
7:00 am: "Hi, sunshine!" says Michelle. She's pretty much a human version of Pinkie Pie. She's the only reasons I still work in this god-awful place. "Hi!" I reply, putting on a weak facade of happiness.
7:05 am: A bunch of old men and women come in every morning and have coffee. My personal favorite is a man who says just two words: "Coffee, cream." We all know him so well, we can perfectly decipher what he wants: Senior coffee with one cream.
8:00 am: I've been here an hour, but it feels like an eternity. Only seven more hours to go...
9:00 am: It's usually pretty dead by now. Nobody comes around here in the winter...
10:00 am: This hour always goes by fast. Thank God.
10:30 am: Switch to lunch. Idiot customers always come in around this time: "Durr, do you still have breakfast?" Is how I imagine they sound. "NO!" I mentally reply. "Do you see breakfast sandwiches on the menu?! We're serving what's on the menu, and only what's on the menu!"
11:00 am: Break time. Hallelujah. Clock out, punch in my Big Mac large meal, go sit in the break room. Sometimes I'm in here with Mari, a grill worker. She's Mexican. She can speak a little bit of English, but with a VERY heavy accent. I always dread meeting her in here, because she asks me questions that I can't understand, but I'm always too weak* to just tell her that I can't understand what she's saying. I just fake it, nod and smile weakly.
11:30 am: Back to the grindstone. Three hours and thirty minutes remain.
12:00 pm: It's noon, and I'm still here, my mental health growing ever worse.
1:00 pm: It's empty. Why can't I just go home?
2:00 pm: One hour left, just one hour left. Make it through this, McDonald's Employee #123, and you get to go home and chillax. Just one more hour...
3:00 pm: "Anything you need me to do before I leave?" I ask nonchalantly. There's always something trivial they want me to do, take out the trash, sweep the lobby, etc. Once I finish those, I'll clock out, and run to the car like a pack of angry wolves was chasing at my heels.
3:15 pm: I'm back home! I can become Cameron Reed again! Another day survived. Thank God I don't have to work tomorrow...
(*Weak. I'm always too weak. I can never say what I need to, because I'm always too weak. I can never build up the courage to tell it like it is. I just get roped into things because I'm too weak to save myself. Too weak...)
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