I just changed out the roll of receipt-tape in my cash register, and there’s a surprising amount left. I’m sitting in Home Depot’s garden section in a Dead Calm (that’s my “Dead C”)—and now that I suddenly have a small scroll of paper to hand, I’ll write.
I was trying to occupy myself by re-reading the state’s motorcycle manual on my phone-screen, but that had me going cross-eyed. Sitting on an overturned orange bucket by myself had me going bug-eyed… with boredom.
I’m apparently a person whose brain wants to be busy. When I’m alone I read a book while I eat, and turn on the news while I drink morning coffee. If I’m not engaged with people (times like now) I have to be engaged with something. The part of this job I dislike is when there’s down-time. I’ll be standing out in front of my register doing calf-raises and balancing on my toes, smiling away at… nothing.
Last night with thunder and downpours outside, the place was a ghost town in the hours before closing. I had something in mind that I wanted to blog about, but I can’t seem to compose in my head until the words are being put down—whether onscreen or on paper (or on-scroll).
The thing is, my mind meanders a lot, and it’s only after I’ve “captured” some of the wild words that I can start taming them into some sort of shape. Letting the words stampede in my head just doesn’t serve any lasting purpose—they run me over and leave me trampled in my own mental dust with just a vague impression that something worthwhile might have just come through, if only I’d had the wherewithal to rope it in.
The screen on my register told me earlier today that “Escape is not allowed at this point.” What a thing for a work-computer to say to me!
I humbly disagree. All I needed was a roll of register tape and a pen.