This Is Paradise (part one)

Saturday, June 19, 2021

I was on my hands and knees cleaning the living room floor. I finished the kitchen and bedroom this late morning and spent extra time washing down her bathroom. She insists the tissues and toilet paper are placed in a specific manner where the flap is above and not below with respect to the roll. The tissues have to be on the right side and set where she doesn’t have to actually stretch to get a sheet. I once forgot to put the tissues in their proper place, and I had to make fried egg sandwiches for her, but also for me. The thing is, I loathe eggs, especially fried egg sandwiches. She would make me eat this chicken-ass-like food and smile as I try to swallow it down. She forbid me to have a drink with the sandwich. I needed to chew and force myself to swallow the food of the damned.

How I got here is a road I chose to take, when in a rightful mind, I would have pulled myself off the highway to despair. But it seemed that I didn’t take my foot off the gas pedal and went straight into a state of bliss, but it left me with bruises on my knees and a tainted soul. All in all, I got what I asked for, so I shouldn’t complain. May I tell you all about it?

I worked in one of the bigger book shops in the area, called Paradise Books, and I was appointed to be the day manager by the owner, who didn’t care to show up for work. He preferred the managers to take responsibility. My role in this place was to do the hiring, order the book stock for our available inventory, and make sure everyone takes their two breaks, lunch, and be back not to screw someone’s break time. I found the work satisfying because I tend to be obsessive about scheduling and making sure everyone’s assignments for the day get finished. At times, I had to write up notices for some employees who don’t complete their work. I don’t feel bad about doing this because if I don’t do it, who will teach them? After they sign my complaint against them, I asked them to thank me. They all do.

When I was first hired here as a part-time employee, I had a tough manager. She made sure I shelved the books in a specific manner where each title was placed almost to the edge of the shelf, and it must be not too crowded. There had to be space for the customer to easily remove and replace the book. I was taught to stick close to the customer, mainly to make sure they put the book back in the proper place. I feel many managers at the time cared less about sales and more about the order. This particular manager often had me clean the counter after each customer has been there. My memory of the manager was beautiful, so I enjoyed the attention she gave me, especially with her specific instructions. There had been times when my anger would come out, and she would sense it and write me up for it. Other times, especially when we are alone in the store, she would call me over. She showed me images off her phone of her by a window. She’s naked but covering her breasts and looking out the window like she is waiting for her lover to arrive. My manager told me that her boyfriend took a photograph, and she felt it was OK to show me because she sensed I was the sensitive art lover and not a brute. Which was and still is severely true. Should I tell you more?

End of Part One, Part two…to be continued.