I regularly frequent a Shaw’s that has two Redboxes. Yet I always have to wait in line to use either. One is slightly busted and I realize that my wait time is increased by about 27 minutes unless I step in to assist the customers in front of me.
The arrow doesn’t actually coordinate with your finger. It’s about an inch behind. Meaning you try to rent Moonrise Kingdom and you end up renting The Search for Santa Paws. There I was, impatiently waiting to return The Search for Santa Paws before I was charged an extra $1.50 and an older gentleman in front of me had three movies to return. This would calculate a total of 13 minutes if I didn’t show him the trick to returning movies in a busted Redbox. “You just want to touch in an inch above where you think you should touch it.”
The eye contact that occurred after this statement was one that probably occurs when you pull your vehicle up next to a stripper on a street corner. I was just trying to help and here this man was thinking I was offering him a handie. He called me a lifesaver and tried to give me a dollar. I’m either a prostitute or he feels bad I frequent this Redbox enough to know how to work it properly. All of the above.
I made record time in my Redbox trip only to have the same young man call me “sir” for the third time this week. I actually responded this time by saying “yes?” in my most feminine voice. He felt like such a jerk he looked away and I didn’t to deny him his pleas for spare change.
Nothing about my day has been successful, minus the dollar I earned for simply touching something. Something that makes me consider taking up prostitution as a legitimate career path. I woke up in a terrible mood for no reason other than having to work on a Sunday when I haven’t really gotten a day off all week. And everyone I worked with was in an even worse mood. I had someone have a nervous breakdown in the back room and a grown adult male through a hissy fit because he didn’t like the level of communication occurring in the moment. Meaning I had to spend half my day communicating how inappropriate it is for a grown adult male to throw a hissy fit and how work is not a place to get upset about how you mistakenly slept with your roommate.
And as the pieces of my life seem to fall away from me, I can’t seem to get myself to run. I did start walking to work so at least I could do something physically active. Except on the walk home I dared myself to stop at no crosswalks. A feat indeed given it’s two miles through the city of Cambridge. I almost got legitimately impaled by almost four motor vehicles. And at no point was I the least bit concerned about this because all I could think was at least I’ll finally get a day off!
But I won’t. And I probably won’t find the energy to run. I’ll have to wipe the tears of people who make the mistake of falling for their roommates and grown adults who throw boxes for no real reason while I give a dollar to a homeless man who thinks I’m a sir that I earned by simply touching something in a sexual way. How exactly did I end up here?