7-11

The most memorable part of the day was in a 7-11 parking lot, somewhere in the heart of Woodland Hills west of the Golden State freeway. Even with perfect vision he couldn’t imagine anyone being able to focus on the road here. The amount of flashing lights and oversized advertisements screaming for anyone’s attention (and through their visible dilapidation, not accomplishing the task) would be more than enough to cause an accident. Is there even such a thing as visual stimuli overload insurance? There would definitely be a market.

It’s funny how all of the 7-11 clerks are mostly the same. Backtrack- he doesn’t really know what 7-11 clerks are like anywhere else but here. But there’s always a brief moment of personal respect before it is stamped out in favor of ‘professional etiquette,’ or talking aggressively in well-structured sentences with poorly pronounced words. He gets it. It’s the same face he was paid to wear for a while when he was employed at a business where the monthly income was tied directly to his personality.

There’s nothing unique or special about the moment he is realizing has descended upon him. The clerk says ‘thank you’ in a mild condescending tone, offers no bag (policy? frugality? laziness?), and he bears no memory of his footsteps from the counter, across the parking lot, and into his car. He sits there for a moment, cracks open an energy drink and contemplates sitting here and watching the storefront as his Saturday night activity.

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About brettspadaro

Attempting to complete a business degree in southern California. Dream big, act rationally. Go for what you believe in.

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