Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Everything in its place
Right off the bat, I tried to join the circus. It was the right thing to do. But they wouldn't have me. They didn't find me disturbing enough. So I applied for a job at the bank. But they wouldn't have me either. Though they said they had no openings, I could see that I discomfited them. They didn't want me around customers. They didn't want me around themselves.
It could be my stink that's to blame. Either the olfactory or ocular variety.
Fortunately, I am not entirely unemployable. I am willing to show up and am not abnormally stupid. I can work hard when I have to. I don't hate it entirely. This is enough; no, this is surfeit.
Inside the swirl of fumes, my stink is occluded. Besides, everyone feels safe in their car at a gas station, no matter who's manning the pumps. In fact, I think they like seeing me here. It makes sense. It would be much harder to bear to see someone of some personal magnificence playing pump jockey. That situation would constitute an implicit threat.
I, on the other hand, comfort customers with the knowledge that there is still a chasm of crystal clear air between themselves and the bottom.