I didn’t go into the question booth even once. Yet couldn’t avoid conversations, like with the lady who wants to recruit me to her inspirational cult and liked strawberry with chicken, as well as some random TL from CTB who spoke to me as if I was his best friend. I went along. He was saying how the night shift is superior to the day shift.
I ate as much tofu as I could justify (it was pretend chinese food). Me and Lambert talked about Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism. Then I fled at an awkward moment.
I lost lots of time like I was alien abducted even though it was the malady known as “scoring psychosis.” You have a choice–I can give all these the wrong score, or I can space out for ten minutes. I wrote a letter on pink paper and started a poem “slumber party.”
Thursday is the cruelest day because there’s no training to make the time go faster. Everyone’s drooling and frantic for lunch. My neighbor blew her nose like a trumpet. I found out she’s 54.
The pay phone is still broken so I just sneaked in the back room, stared at the list of extensions, and watched the minutes add up like I’m supposed to feel guilty.