She looks at me with one eye-brow raised and a frown on her lips. It’s the kind of frown that does not indicate sadness, but that somebody is impressed.
She nods her head as if he had just explained rocket science with the very same words she would have chosen. He’s going on about how your senses reach a point where they get so used to a certain feeling that a stimulant that produces a feeling of lower frequency would go almost unnoticed by our senses and we would need a higher frequency to make us react to what our senses detect. Yeah, rocket science it is.
“It only makes sense that if you eat natural, raw foods, that food with preservatives and a lot of flavor would seem much more flavourful than if some one who ate such foods regularly. So for me sugar tastes sweeter if I haven’t had much of it..” Roland continues.
“Isn’t that the nature of pretty much anything? If you get used to something, you hit a plateau,” I give my two cents to Mr. NASA. ‘I don’t care, I’m just here for my share of the deal. I don’t give a fuck about his philosophy on taste and life and boobs and what not.’
They both suddenly stop conversing and turn to me with eyes widened in mild shock. Tammy’s eyes narrow then , and I’m pretty sure she said ‘Bitch!’ in her head. I realize that my last thoughts were said out loud. Oops. Well, if this happened last year I’d probably say something like “God, guys I didn’t mean that, I’m just in a hurry, you see…blah blah, ramble, ramble.”
But right now, I really don’t care. I really don’t care about anything or anyone, I think. It’s been two years of Roland’s goddamn talk, talk and more talk, and I did this job with every intention of it being my last job with The Company. After this I will have nothing to do with them.
Surprisingly, Roland decides to be the bigger person. Dang it!
He turns to his suitcase with out any expression and hands me the 10 grand. A lop-sided smile begins to appear on his lips. “It’s okay, you know, I know I talk too much. I just can’t help it.” He laughs a genuine laugh. “Here’s your share. It was great working with you babe. You’re a real pro! Thanks for putting up with me.”
He grins while I stare into his eyes looking for the sarcasm but finding honesty. I suddenly feel like crap. I shift my gaze and pull myself out of the arrogance that keeps finding its way into my demeanor.
After I stuff the cash into the leather bag that Mum gave me before she went to Australia with her new boy-toy. Then, for the first time since I’ve known Roland I hug him and say, “Maybe it’s not that you talk too much. Maybe it’s just that I don’t listen well enough.” I kiss him on the cheek, and then approach Tammy realizing that I just became a bit of a softy there.
We can’t have that now, can we? To make up for it, and catch up with the bitch in me, I give her a mocking smile in response to the warm smile she just gave me. I guess for the first time, in these two years that we’ve worked together, she did not hate my guts and maybe, almost, began to like me. Aww? Please!
My smile turns to a hideous chuckle and I say. “Fuck you. I’m fucking glad I’m done with you.” Her mouth opens in shock, or maybe to reply. But nothing comes out. If it was in shock, well I’d think that’s pretty stupid. Ever since I joined them in their little venture, even when the rest of the crew were there, not once did she treat me like a human being, let alone a partner. Now she wants to soften up while we bid farewell and pretend like all the schemes she carried out against me to give me a bad name were nothing?
I pat her on the shoulder with what is now a sarcastic-cum-pitiable grin and begin to walk away. I’m thinking again. Maybe I should end this in a friendly way, in good terms. Maybe I should ask her again and she would finally tell me what she had against me.
But I’m not Roland. I’m Jen Jobs. I live and die for the job. I don’t know my real surname, but I like the one the streets gave me.
My name is my purpose. The people around me are just means to an end. And the ending of my job, is a full-stop to my purpose. The ending of my purpose is a full-stop to my life. I need to find a coma.
I straighten my back while I softly laugh to myself. The Sun hits my eye sharply as I leave the dimly lit warehouse. It seems to have read my thoughts and it’s piercing rays rebuke me for the dimly lit definition I have given to my life.
I move my right hand away so that it would no longer shield my eyes from the brightness of daylight and I stare right at the center of the universe. Its radiance humbles me and I shrug my shoulders.
The irony in how I define my life makes me laugh and I have never done anything about it. I am as good as dead, with only comas to fill the gaps. And in my comatose state, the rest of the people around me are the wires and pumps that keep me breathing.
If only it was enough to exist. I look up at the Sun again. “You’re one to judge.”
I continue to walk away from the dimly lit warehouse with dimly lit Tammy and dimly sensible Roland. I got other things to take care of.