Re-Routine

There are times when you contemplate life, but pushing the vending machine back and forth trying to free your chocolate milk isn't one of them.  A few thoughts were going through my head, but none of them pertained to the current state of my life. I pushed it up against the wall and let it rock forward again. A Fanta slipped out of place and slid to the bottom.  Damnit. I tried a few more times with no luck and resigned myself to my unwanted orange beverage. Defeat was truly personified by me that afternoon. Slumped at the bottom of a drink vending machine outside a bait shop, head between my knees except to sip another burning sip of a drink I didn't want. In an effort to stay positive I lamented the fact that I hadn't been crushed to death. I read in a magazine once that more people die each year from vengeful vending machines than from shark attacks. I also read in the same magazine a recipe for a spicy shrimp pasta. My thoughts had redirected me to negativity again. Now I'm out a drink and a meal. Oh well.

I picked myself up and headed down the street. The pavement was cracked and broken all down the sidewalk. For the bugs living there, a world torn asunder, for me, a slight bother.   I realized I had started walking the wrong way. I awkwardly stopped in my tracks and lost my balance, spinning on the balls of my feet and landing again sideways. Normally another contemplative moment, but I chose to forgo embarrassment and trudge off in the other direction whimsically.  I reached the public parking lot and immediately forgot where I parked. I started calling out the make and model of my car out as if calling for a lost dog. I thought it was funny, even though nobody was around to laugh. I laughed for them. I eventually found my car, even though it never answered me. A  1993 silver Chevy Cavalier. There was no upholstery on the ceiling and my friends had all carved their names in the asbestos-laced, dirt-stained foam.  The asbestos part was facetious on the part of my friends and I, but it was truly hideous. The muffler was annoyingly loud for everyone around me, but somehow the decibel level lessened considerably inside. The stereo was from my old car and it didn't fit. It was jammed into an empty radio compartment and jutted out a full 4 inches, though the duck tape secured it  quite nicely. I turned my broken MP3 player on shuffle and revved my engine to give myself another laugh.

I drove to the supermarket and it was densely packed. I already forgot what I needed but I went on in, to wander aimlessly.  I grabbed a shopping cart and went through the aisles, putting in things that looked appealing. It had a half gallon of orange juice, a package of cookies, two lightbulbs, paprika, Rolling Stone magazine, and some bendy straws in it when I abandoned it in the middle of the aisle.

I walked into the crowded restroom and assumed the position in front of the only open urinal. My boxers had somehow twisted themselves into an ampersand without my permission and right under my nose. This was preventing me from pissing, so I just stood there for half a minute and pretended. Then I walked, unzipped, to the stall. At this point I had already turned a simple task into a project so I sat down to splash out. The cold porcelain was a treat on my buttocks. I stayed until my legs fell asleep and then awkwardly hobbled out of a still crowded restroom on pins and needles. 

I decided I didn't really want anything in my cart so I went and put it all back on the shelf. I walked out feeling a little bit like a criminal for leaving the store without any products. Nobody cared.

 I got stuck on traffic on the way home.  I could smell the disdain in the people around me. Frowning, slumped down, jittery. People have no patience. Whether caught up with other drivers on the road for 30 minutes or stuck at a red light for 20 seconds, they become irate and filled with
malice. I enjoy traffic. It gives me an excuse to skirt responsibility for just a while longer. I was sat there, music flowing through my speakers quietly, hands drumming on the wheel, head bobbing enthusiastically, and just forgetting about stresses and worries. This is when I had my contemplative moment. A group of steaming metal vessels trapped in a stuttering conveyor belt together. Humans jammed into boxes and not a one of them interacting with each other, save for the occasional honk or lane switch or passionate vocal tirade. Everyone collectively deciding to follow the rules, no matter how much it irked them.  I wanted so desperately to rebel but I didn't want to hurt anyone or make a statement. I just didn't want to follow the path of the complacent any longer.  I put my car in park and grabbed my belongings. One broken MP3 player, one tube of chapstick. Not too much, it seems. I walked home that day. Seven miles of wandering and taking in the sights and sounds. I bought myself a bike the next day and made an effort to see as much of the city as my legs would allow. I showed up to work two weeks later as though nothing had happened. Nobody confronted me. Back to the grind.