Lying in bed, in the dark. Staring and gesturing at the ceiling:
There are people who risk serious injury - and their very lives - to save lives.
There are people who risk serious injury because they get paid millions or tens of millions or hundreds of millions of dollars to do so.
Then there are people who risk serious injury to obtain a packet of colby jack cheese.
Early morning memory of the time I witnessed a manager of a grocery store balance on one foot on the handle of a step ladder to reach a product.
Rather than take the time to get the proper equipment to do the job, he appeared not to think twice about saving whole minutes with his dangerous workaround. The person he was assisting didn't bat an eye. Neither noticed the look on my face. And the fans in the refrigerator must have concealed my mutterings: What are you doing? What am I looking at right now? What is wrong with you? There's something I am never doing at this job, etc, but with more cursing. One little slip as he's taking his time to cut through plastic wrap and open a box, a momentary shift in his body weight, and he hits concrete, breaks his foot, breaks his leg, snaps his neck. For cheese.
I baffle him. Bereft of an explanation for me, he settles for: People sometimes. That's the way it goes. There are some real crazies out there. It is what it is. It's not what it's not. It wasn't what it wasn't and it's not going to be what it's not going to be. He sees the look on my face as he walks by and thinks: I hate him.
Cheese.
That recording playing throughout the day is a lie. He couldn't care less about anyone's health or safety. See how much the authority figure cares about his own. I mean, cheese.
And with that, I leap carefully out of bed, air guitar, and start the day.
