One Hour Speed Write V

One hour! One story! Quick thinking! Quick writing! No stopping! No escape! This story's seed: The name Mary Sue. Time left: Fourteen minutes.

Mary f*****g Sue.
My parents couldn't be spared the chance for any level of originality when they were choosing my name.
Maybe I'm being unfair I mean how could one be expected to competently name their child with a freshly emptied heroin needle in their eye? Maybe I should be more curious about the odds that my dad would have the misfortune of having the surname Sue. To bad he's not a lawyer his pathetic name would be a bit comical if that were the case but the universe never was very keen on satisfying the fleeting wishes of humans now was it?
You know, I got a degree didn't I? So why in the hell am I still waiting tables? It seems to me I ought to be able to get a job at least one level above this bullshit shouldn't I?
Waiting tables is this sort of special circle of hell invented only for the lowest of the low and those with really dumb names. So teenagers and myself, and the poor b*****d named John Smith.
Then you have to talk to the f*****g c***s at your table, socialize with them on that off chance you'll increase your tip by fifty cents because these slave wages are the only thing separating me from the guy behind my apartment in the box.
I wonder if the customers are ever aware of how I positively couldn't care about them to even the slightest of degree. Oh your sister had a baby? Your husband got a promotion? Your grandpa died? No one gives a s**t!
Maybe I'm just a b***h.

Based on the sensations I'm getting from my feet my only conclusion is I'm standing on pinecones but my eyes claim otherwise. And working to determine this is why I'm staring at my feet as I enter my apartment and sit on the coach.
"How was work?" She asks.
"S**t."
"I need to get you out more."
"Uh-huh."
"I think you need a break from life."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm gonna plan us a big huge date for this weekend okay?"
"Yeah a big huge f*****g date, yay."
"Would it kill you to show some emotion?"
"Possibly."

I hate my boss, I hate my coworkers, and I hate the f***s who walk into that door sit their fat asses down and ask for something.
"Mary." The voice of my bossman?
"Yeah?"
"Look I know it's not your posting but I need you to clean the back stall in the ladies room. The janitors gone and you're the only woman left on shift."
"Okay." Said the mouth.
"Drink some f*****g cyanide." Said the mind.
I'm on my knees now, maybe I am just a w***e at the end of the day, I scrub away at the vomit and muck.

If my girlfriend knew I got off of work two hours earlier than I said I did? I wonder what she'd think. I wonder what she'd do.
I'm pretty sure I'm standing on pinecones again. I don't look down this time. The lock clicks. She sits there on the coach, like ever single other day. It's mundane, this is my life, and nothing ever f*****g changes.

I'm inches away from killing the a******s at table nine. Not only do they act annoyed when I'm in their presence, not only are they the two most rude people I've ever had the displeasure of knowing, I keep hearing bits and pieces of their stupid pretentious conversation. The thought of watching their blood dripping from the walls is my only escape in this moment.

I start the car, but I don't go home, I have somewhere else, I have to be first.
Pinecones. Coach. Girlfriend. Sleep. Everyday, the same.

The greatest thing about working today was very few people came in. It was an absolute miracle. It made me so abundantly happy.

I'm headed in the direction opposite my apartment now. I know this spot too well.
Pincones. Coach. Girlfriend speaks, seduces. Love making.
Yeah sure she and I make love fairly frequently, I wouldn't say it's an every day thing but, tonight, tonight she was so passionate, and sweet, and loving, she, she, I'm at a loss for words, but when it was all said and done everything seemed a bit brighter, it wasn't the mere orgasm, it was something much deeper, and penetrating, no pun intended. Something about her loving nature tonight, it lit the fire in my soul that had been snuffed out sometime ago, I can't recall having ever felt that way from our love ma- we've never made love before, what we did before was just sex. This was something on an entirely different level. I've told her many times before I love her. I never meant it more sincerely than tonight.

Yeah so my boss is a dick and my coworkers are obnoxious f***s and the customers fall into pretty much the same category, but so what? Maybe I don't have to be so bitchy and depressed like I've been in the past. So my attitude is still f**k em all, but now I'm happy about f*****g em, it's not some obnoxious hassle.

However, I still live in the real world, and no amount of happiness will change my need for money. So I'm driving this path again, I know where it goes, I know where it's grotesque end is.
Pinecones. Coach. We cuddle, the television drones in the background but it's just noise. We just sit there, she holds me, and I hold her, I smile. I struggle not to cry. I nearly do. I grip her tighter, my eyes moisten a bit, but she doesn't seem to notice.

You know I sometimes wonder if I can file suit against my coworkers for being stupid snobs and my customers for being a******s, as well as being snobs. I know this is a mere pipe dream of mine made from my anger but like that fantasy about the two at table nine it sure as hell seems to keep me going throughout the day.

I sigh. I'm scared, I'm tired, I don't want to do this, not again, not today, never again. I just want to stop. Someday...maybe. I get out of the car and grab my bag from the trunk. I search for an unoccupied port-o-potty and enter. I take of my clothes and let them fall, I put on the more revealing outfit and put my old clothes back in the bag. I throw the bag in the car. I stand on my corner. A car soon pulls up.
Pinecones. Coach. Girlfriend. We cuddle again. It's becoming more difficult night after night to not confess to what I do, just to help us make way. But if I told her would she still love me? I fear the rejection, and when she holds me like this, makes me love her, makes me want to love her more, not crying is almost impossible.

I want to quit this line of work, I want nothing more than that, but is it not preferable to living in the box with the man behind my apartment?