questions

Questions

When I was a salesman I learned that to make a sale don’t tell people anything, just ask them questions.
Currently I am a collection agent. Think of this if you ever have the misfortune of having one call you.
A before morning coffee brake day in the life of a collection agent.

So I look at the normal people I see at work every day, and despite the fact that I kind of want to speak with them, the embarrassment I feel when people realize I'm odd, leads me to quietly stand off by my self. Today for some reason my mind decided to ask me questions.
Not simple easy ones like why am I hear but the harder ones.
It started when I left my desk to take my “fuck is my job boring” morning shit. Not to be confused with my “fuck is my job boring afternoon shit” where I rarely actually shit.
There I am jettisoning out the by products of what I spend my so called pay check on, and my mind, obviously trying to save me from the certain death that it is convinced that boredom will cause, asks me…
“Why do you believe,” which is the rudest way to start a question, “that people will think your odd?”
Well if you know me, I like to fight fire with fire. The blaze excites me.
So I respond with questions of my own.
‘Is it maybe that every one of my friends who I do show my self to says “hay your weird”? Even after I learned that showing my self doesn’t mean that I have to get naked or expose my genitals in any way!
“Why do you believe your friends?’
“Aren’t your friends weird?”
‘Isn’t that why they accept me?’I retort.
“If your friends are weird and they say you’re weird, couldn’t that mean that you’re a bit normal?”

The interrogation is interrupted as it takes both parts of my mind to curse who ever the cheep ass muther fucker who designed the little piece of metal that makes the toilet paper not roll smoothly in all public toilets, the one that is so hugely flawed that it makes it almost impossible to get more than 2 sheets off the roll at a time and completely improbable that what should be the simple task of cleaning the excess crapp from your ass, will be simply and effectively done in a time efficient matter.

It doesn’t cross my mind to ask why I’m worried about time efficiency while my bathroom brake is by design a time waster in the first place.

I return to my desk. I use a telephone for what I jokingly call a living. I have a tendency to remember in my short term memory numbers in an order I like, not so much the order they actually appear. i.e. I like 32 but dislike 23. As I look from my computer screen to the phone pad making sure that the number I dialed and the number that the computer suggested are the same digits in the same order, , the part of my brain that can attack me is consumed by tedium and unable to continue in its assault. But it’s not an all consuming task so I'm left with the sound of my mind droning on the words to a song most of us know. You know it its tat song that goes …”Fuck is my job boring Fuck is my job boring fuck is this boring fuck is this boring….. I won’t sing any more for you as I’m certain that you know it by hart. And if you don’t I don’t want to be the one to introduce it to your infuriatingly perfect life, Jeremy.

My eyes look to the display on the phone to check digits but my hand has already hung up the phone and….A RAY OF LIGHT PIRCES THROUGH!
Its only 3 minuet till brake! The ‘fuck’ song is replaced by “YAY it’s almost recess.
As I tidy up my desk top to avoid being on a call and missing any part of coffee brake, my mind resumes its desperate war on me enjoying or even dully accepting my existence.
“How old are you?”
“Thanx for bringing that up, ass hole”
“And your waiting for recess?, “
Others are stirring it must be time!
I grab my coat and commiserate with the others about how long the elevator takes.
At last I'm out side. My 15 min’s. of …. The sky’s ugly today, I can’t stare at it and day dream.
People flood out of the doors and an explosion of small talk erupts, filling the air.
I dig out a cigarette, and light it.
My urge to befriend and my fear of ridicule slam me at the same time.
And what I can only assume is an attempt to free me from the terrible war that will soon ensue, my mind asks….
“How soon will it snow?”
I notice that there isn’t a stick of wood in this alley to knock on, so I attempt to believe I didn’t ask my self that. I also realize that to deal with this I need to think of stronger questions. This isn’t going to be an easy battle to win.
“Think of a question” I tell my self. For half of a partial moment I remember the Dr. Seuss book, ‘how to unthunk a glunk’ but it’s gone before I can contemplate that little appearance. Yes it seems my mind has stolen most of my ammo and has at the moment taken control of most of my free will.
“And isn’t free will the reason to live?”
In a moment of self mental jujitsu grasp at the question. Its safe and its small level of disassociation from my self lets me wash away in the new flood of questions.
“How could the catholic church take such a truth and bog it down in rules?”
“If it is the reason to live, dose that mean that life is just an exercise in what you will your self to do?”
“If so then isn’t the real question of existence why not just do it?”
“How could Nike take such a fact and make it a slogan for slave labor?”
And the real big question;
“How long will it be until I find another job?”