Proletariat: part 1.

People tell me "at least you have a job." But those are usually people who make more money than me. It would mean something different coming from a bum, or someone who just got fired, but when Willy Wallstreet stinks his pinky up at me, adorned with a gold ring from the Harvard class of 78, I bite my lip, wanting to say all of this:

1.) The Wage
There was a point in my occupational tenure that I found myself dealing with a ratty customer, two hot pots of Giuseppe balancing like San Te in the first of 36 chambers (no one will understand this reference), and my size eleven Nike was trying to kick the right combination of buttons to shoot an espresso. The chaos was like Guerinca, so call me a Cubist cow, cause I was in the middle of it. But in the haze, sometime before the Mango Ceylon tea spilled onto my funnies, there was my coworker, eating a sandwich, facing the large windows that overlook the plaza. Then I heard him fart and I remember thinking to myself, "we get paid the same."

2.) "Goodbye my looooooooove!"
Beauty is a double edged sword. It's nice to see sweet faced women come through line and clip clop with high heels, like little Aphrodites, to my register. If I had the know how, I'd build pantheons to revere some of that booty. See, I'd chase after some of those women, I'd even fake an interest in snail reproduction if I had to, just to extend the length of a conversation. But inevitably, there is someone else in line, usually a pimply one type, with a square head, muttering about prices just to end up buying half a stick of gum. And meanwhile, I look passed that dude's greasy hair, his paisley scarf, and his mispronunciation of the word 'latte,' to watch the Giuseppe Zanotti's of my goddess walk away.

3.) Stress Dreams
The one-two. Closing then opening. The working man's nightmare. Literally. When I work a ten hour shift on Monday night with the almighty schedule demanding my presence at seven the next morning, I stress. The nap in between can be a quick escape from labor, or it can be the worst nightmare of your life. I had a dream the other night where there were five minutes left before we closed the store, and the Emperor of Japan (who was depicted in my dream as the guy who played Katsumoto in the Last Samurai) ordered 72 cups of espresso. The rest of my dream, I was spilling drinks under the cruel eye of the Mikado. Then my alarm went off and I went to work.

4.) The Tips

We are technically not allowed to get tips, but it was a slow day, and I got creative and put this sign in our cup. People liked it and threw in a few more pennies than usual, but then my General Manager came over, gave it a once over look. I was hoping he would be charmed enough to let it slide, and I got a feeling in my stomach a failure kid must have when he has the opportunity to impress his dad. The GM took the sign out of the cup and said "No more jokes for today." That day I walked about with a paper Lincoln.

5.) "If you have time to lean, you have time to clean."
That is the most unmotivating thing I have ever heard. When the store winds down, and I've swept the shine off of the floor, I am not going to keep sweeping. Downtime is downtime, and I use it to work on MISERY. The way I figure, minimum wage, minimum work. I used to go the extra mile to check inventory, bake cookies, and wipe the counters with a grease monkey's swag, but then I didn't get a raise, so if either way, I'm getting paid a pauper's sum, I'd rather grab a take out bag and record my misery.

Proletariat: part 2 soon.