Sore feet.
A thousand people all at once,
wanting to know, if this is supposed to be fast food,
why have they been waiting half an hour?
Oblivious to the other 999 people
and the eight crew persons.
Orders backed up beyond the screen's capacity.
Mess everywhere.
Running out of supplies.
Running out of change.
Running out of time.
Running out of patience.
Sore feet.
Last nerves stretched to the limit.
Everyone ready to walk out, quit.
Some do.
Some ready to kill customers,
or fellow crew.
Yelling.
Stress, so much stress.
Customers complaining about everything.
Crew working as fast as humanly possible.
Ewan McGregor time:
"Well I'm tryin' ta do my best here
under really difficult circumstances!"
It never ends, for hours.
...And then, it does.

The steady stream stops.
Drains are still backed up,
water on the floor.
But orders get caught up.
There's time to clean.
Wipe down tables,
pick up trash,
empty trash bins,
clean trays.
Stock ice and lids and cups and ketchup,
and all that needs stocking.
Time to take breaks, one at a time.
Time to relax the body,
and the mind, the spirit.
And work again, somewhat refreshed.

And more people come,
but not a thousand at a time.
Es no casa loco.
Peace. Sanity. Things get done on time.
Off at eight. Finally, time to go home.
Get a ride, or walk near an hour.
Sore feet.
Still, there is the promise of peace, tranquility, freedom,
relaxation of body...
But not mind and spirit, not truly.
Time to face the personal life.
The stress of work pales.

Real life... *sigh*...
The love of my life...
My favorite person on the planet...
And once I was hers.
Now... nothing matters, to her.
All her life, she's been treated like shit by almost everyone,
and then blamed for it.
The most wonderful person in the world, who should be treated with the utmost love and respect by everyone...
tormented, scarred.
And in my head, I can't make Natalie Imbruglia stop singing,
"Torn."
She's known far more than her share of utter ass-holes.
It's not fair.
Especially her family...
who should be a safe haven,
who should be those in whom most certain to find love, caring,
shelter from the too-cruel world.
They are the worst.
Once, it seemed I could make her feel better, a bit.
Now it's just too late, nothing matters to her.
The world has been too monstrous too long and it's all too much, and no one can help anymore.
I don't give up hope.
I can't. I love her too much.
I always will, it's not the sort of love I can fall out of.
She can try to hurt me, push me away, believing my love doesn't matter.
But she can't make me stop loving her, stop caring.
She can't.
I live to make her happy,
I want most to do what she wants,
but in this case, it's beyond my ability.
If what she wants is for me to stop caring,
I simply can't.

Her pain, and my inability to stop it even a little,
is but one of my problems... the biggest.
And then, she no longer seems to love me,
as once she did.
And I love her so much, and always will.
This is my second biggest problem...
missing her...
And then, I don't make enough money,
or when we have a place, I won't quite.
And then, we don't have a place,
but must live with often stressful people.
And then, I don't write enough,
or read fast enough,
and so many other little things such as are common to life.
So many problems,
and when asked how I am,
society dictates I say "fine,"
as my heart and my world and my life
crumble around me,
and I just want to go insane,
but don't, for fear it would further alienate me from her.
I keep my mind from crumbling with the rest.
Off at eight, and here comes the appointed hour.
And there is work enough for one more person,
if I want to stay on a little longer.
"I can't. I must be going now. I do have a life, you know."

Just a little white lie.