Expired Pleasantries
Remember when we had variations of the same conversation for three years?
Yano, something about how you started keeping track of your steps. I forget how you learned my name. God damn fucking name badge probably, notorious for personalising impersonal drivel. But aye, you had been walking a lot, and me, unaware at the time of what number of steps would be worthy of awe, was forced to congratulate. Funnily enough, I remember asking you how much the steps were in miles or kilometres, and you did not know. We were both clueless regarding your possible achievements. Then, I reluctantly went on to my achievements. “I work out.”
“The Uni gym,” I told you, which, unfortunately, led us to academia. And there it was, the beginning of our stagnate, self-replicating relationship.
Six months later and we have thrown a few spanners in. 15000 steps today? Wow, that’s a good man. Even in this weather as well. THE WEATHER. Now we can move on the weather, I mean we can move onto the weather, or you could get a move on with your shopping? Na, probably best to stick with the weather. Am I still at uni? Thank fuck I am still at uni because if I wasn’t, I’d have to explain to you, my umbilical cord, why. What do I study? Well, I study mouth moving, mouth moving mouth moving. “See you later, Blair.” Ah, that was when you randomly said my name. You changed things that day. That is when you became an obstacle.
So, things were set in motion. I spot you coming into the store, and I bolt for the toilets. I see you bothering the fourth aisle; I storm throughout the shop with presumable intent. No time for anyone, not even for you, my long-time friend who was frozen in 2015. You spot me, but I’m too far away, and even you will admit that we aren’t worthy of a shout across the room. My plan is working.
The most challenging occasion came when the shop was dead, and I was the only one serving. God, I hoped for a spillage. Some cunt dropping their milk and weirdly guaranteed a new one. Desiring a staff meeting, a bullshit training video…something just to continue the fraying of our friendship. The only way out was to risk creating another YOU. I glanced around, looking for a target whilst keeping you firmly behind me, where you belong, in the past. An old woman. The perfect target. They’ll just love the fact someone is talking to them. Just press the button and let them drone on and on and on. Better yet, old women don’t give a fuck about me and what I have to say. They aren’t like you. Three minutes knocked out easy, and I turn around to see you exit the store. Victory.
Two years on, and you are nothing. I am nothing. “There you go buddy,” I pass you your receipt. No letting on our previous exchanges. Like a former brother-in-law. Occasionally, I see a glint of familiarity propelling from your eye but, my vacant expression combined with my social anxiety and general hatred of my job helps maintain the wall separating me from the advances of strangers. Before you leave one last time, I notice you stare down at your pedometer and shyly look in my direction. I turn my head to you like an established actress ignoring the latest Weinstein assault. Our pleasantries have expired.
Cheers