Observations of a HypocriteA Chapter by Kenny Pomaski
Observation at work the other day.
I asked the man beneath the umbrella what day it was. He looked at me with hollow eyes and waited for a moment, evaluating my status as a person. If I was a radical, then he would be quick. If I was a professional, this could be an enticing conversation. If I was much younger, this could be cute.
"Wednesday, just after two," huffed the man beneath the umbrella. I guess he didn't like me.
"Thank you," I said, and turned to walk away. I looked up into the sunny sky and floating islands of white fields as I passed slowly beneath them, wondering where the wind would take those clouds and if the sun would be mad should they pass between its light and Earth. Of course none of that matters, but it's nice to pretend it does.
I walked around the Wal-Mart once, looking into the truck cabins and the boring walls of white and honesty hidden in the back. It's hilarious how much more you notice about anything should you accept their secrets. Most would think; "Why should they paint the back when it is not viewed by customers or marketing points?" Well, why should they paint the front then if the back is right here? Anybody can come back here and look at this faceless wall, and if they did wouldn't they see that this boring, degrading wall is exactly how they honestly view you and me?Just because it has a blue and gray sheen in front doesn't mean that the honesty is no longer behind the paint. It is.
I find my way back to the front and see that the umbrella man has engaged a conversation with a family. I poke into my pockets for a cigarette and decide against it. Then I decide for it and take an inconveniently long drag. The first is always the best, and after that it really is just addiction taking over.
The umbrella man seems completely enthralled by whatever topic he is currently on. His hands are flailing and mouth flapping with tints of saliva building against the sides. He is so excited, and I couldn't be happier to watch this man. I am very happy for him.
Except, of course, the family of three he is talking to want nothing to do with this man. Their feet are sliding towards the automatically opening doors and their words are quick and without emotion towards the umbrella man. They must be important, or think that they are, because right about now they are going to reap and remove all the happinessthe umbrella man has generated within this two minute conversation.
Let him finish. Please, just let him finish.
With a quick wave, the family departs, mid-conversation, into the bargain market with no more taste for what is needed then when they left their home for groverys and cheap-retail. I look at the umbrella man; is he hurt? He's facing the other way, towards the door. Is he still talking? Is he about to walk in after them?
With a quick turn, the umbrella man throws his right hand up in a wave and mutters, "F**k you too".
I run to the other side of the wall and crouch down laughing. I spend a good time laughing and decide to finish my cigarette there, in silence, watching the passing cars and occasional street racer who beats the others home somewhere between two and twenty seconds ahead, while creating a bigger risk of accidents and death. For five seconds time.
I flick my cigarette against the wall and watch the embers swirl up into the air. I reach into my pocket and pull the taut obstruction out. With a quick clip, I place my badge back on and walk inside. Four days until the weekend.
© 2009 Kenny Pomaski
Added on March 1, 2009
Last Updated on March 1, 2009
365 Stories of No Purpose
AboutI'm a writer who wants nothing more then to be a writer. Name is Kenny Pomaski. I'm 20, and have been writing seriously for nearly five years (Though I've been writing stories my whole life). The b.. more..