Just Another Manic Monday 

Every one looks miserable. Everything is sad and depressing. That includes the faux art scattered randomly without thought. Somehow that’s even more so.

The smiles are quick and docile. The words are curt. The window to your left opens to a purview of another building containing windows of its own.

The bag lady at the computer is asleep and drooling on herself. No one seems to care.
The line is long. It seems to not move. I think it’s because the woman clerk is flirting with the guy at the counter. His gold wedding band is dented and scratched. He makes it obvious as he talks with his hands and rests his left hand on the counter in between his sentences.

The woman behind me is mumbling to herself. I think she may have some kind of mental illness. The man standing directly in front of me keeps turning at the waist and smiling at me as he looks me up and down.

I don’t look up from my phone. I don’t turn the music down. I don’t stop typing.
“Yes I’d just like to print out my divorce documents, please,” I say to the lady behind the counter. She doesn’t smile at me. She gives me a look of contempt crossed with mild disgust.

She sighs and points to the sign on the counter.

LOG INTO ONE OF THE COMPUTERS ON THE BACK WALL, FIND YOUR DOCUMENT, THEN CLICK PRINT.

“Thanks for explaining everything to me,” I say to her as I turn away. “Beautiful day, beautiful smile!”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t care. She flirts with the married man in between “assisting” others. She’s very dedicated to her job.

“Goddamnit.” I say to everyone and everything. Not loudly, not full of defiance, not even with any anger. It sounds exactly like this room and its contents, and how the people in it look.

Like just another manic Monday. Whoa whoa. It’s my fun day. Whoa whoa.

 

 

 

 

©Ramon Sturdivant

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