the water has gotten to me here

The first jar is emptied.

I just lived a very Catcher in the Rye evening. My brain started to move in slow motion tonight as the grill continued to fill with customers but stayed low on employees. I kept finding myself in a daze in our walk-in freezer, I would try to follow my steps backwards ("Now why am I here....???") through my realm of mentality but the realm had become a hazy hazy sky. I couldn't find any clues as clouds have no imprints although clouds are the fiber of imprint. When I was younger I used to swing for hours and watch the clouds dreaming they were soft fluffy beds full of white covers to wrap around me.
I also found myself dreaming of taking the lighter that sits on the counter right there, standing upon our step ladder that is found over there, and propping myself up under the sprinkler that sits above our heads here. A restaurant has the sprinkler system of fire alarms, you see. And don't you also see how enjoyable it would be to watch everyone first look up in surprise and then fright about everywhere and stop demanding food of you?
We closed the grill early by half of a little old hour. And as I was locking the doors, my one of two coworkers called me over to show me that our sandwich fridge was at 80 degrees fahrenheit. I turned three more corners as was set upon by a woman who demanded to know what was going on with her order. When I asked her what she'd ordered she started yelling at me which was shocking. So I stood there being shocked or confused and it was all sorted out and her husband apologized to us. It made me sad, not that she was yelling at me, but that I looked over at her husband knowing that he knows this woman and knows why she is yelling at me. I don't. I wanted to try to think of her as a terrible woman but I kept thinking she's a wife and a mother and people know her. I don't. Have you ever felt sad because the world is all in confusion because we're constantly living and won't ever know who the woman is who is yelling at us? I started thinking about husbands and wives and about running away with Holden Caulfield, which I decided against because we wouldn't get the log cabin built before I failed his expectations and it would come to light, what I'd known all along, that he'd never stopped dreaming.
And then customers were over and we were closed and ready for a good few hours of cleaning so I went to the TV controls to look for a good station. It's all worked by a little screen in the office. I went through satellite channels pressing the down button to scan. You press the button and the numbers change on the top right hand corner of the screen one by one. Zero. Five. Nine. Nine. And then the bar at the top tells you whats being shown. PPV: Vacation Voyeurs 9....Oh I'd found the paper view and the number to subscribe to the playboy bunny network and girls gone wild and and and. I sat down with Holden in the elementary school hallway and stared at what was scribbled on the wall wondering how to erase it.
Later, as I was mopping, I kept buzzing betwixt songs from the Beatles' White album and wishing to call my mother up to hear the full lilting spoonerism, "Mardon me Padam, may I sow you to a sheet in the chack of the birch?...."


Dearest Coworker asked me the question: "Moral dilemma. If you slipped and fell and broke your back at the grill, at what point would you clock out? Would it be at the moment you fell and stopped working, when you left with the ambulances?"
Wanting to be prepared for such crisis, we posed the question to our boss who told us we'd never clock out. Hurrah workers comp! Many thinkle peep so.