I sweep the floor and bus tables and take the trash out to the dumpster whenever someone tells me to. People are always telling me what to do.

The other people working there are lowlifes, and I hate that I am one of them. Jackie is the Latina girl who runs the cash register. She is addicted to a number of different drugs, maybe just drugs in general. I doubt she would refuse anything you offered her. A functioning addict, she takes her uppers during the day and her downers at night, allowing her to make it through her shift at the pizza place. She is friendly, but not my friend. No one is my friend.

Scott is the pizza maker. Take the dough, spread some sauce, and throw on the right toppings. Not a job for anyone with half a brain. This is fortunate for Scott, since he does not have half a brain. He is fat in a melting, hanging flesh sort of way, and laughs at his own dirty jokes that aren’t that funny. He smoked too much marijuana in high school and he can’t always put together a logical sentence. I think he might be a sex offender.

Dan is the manager. The only reason that Dan is the manager is because his parents own the restaurant. He was a year behind me in school and doesn’t know the first thing about running a business. He comes in and out at random times and always gives his low life friends free pizza. It is generally understood amongst the late night college crowd that if a woman exposes her breasts to Dan she will get free pizza. I hate Dan. I hate pizza.

My first task of the day is to fill the napkin dispensers at the tables. I start at the front by the big wall of windows that faces the street outside.

I think about how I could possibly die by running through that window. Tiny shards of glass mixed with big piercing ones scraping and stabbing my body until I bleed to death. It would be very dramatic. It’s not that I really am going to kill myself; it’s just something I think about sometimes.

Lindsay Moe
Wasted Life
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