...and took a job at a very large and popular corporation in that state. For the purposes of this entry, and because I'm pretty sure I signed a document on my first day giving them permission to end my life with brute force if I ever utter a negative word about them, I will call said company Shmizney World.
The thing about taking a job at Shmizney World is that you basically have to be clinically insane to do it. Or really into cults. Or both.
 |
| ...will ride all the rides with you. |
Now, I am admittedly a crazy person. I work really hard most of the time to hide this fact, but there it is. I build up an exoskeleton of feigned sanity, and the thicker it gets, the less people can tell that I actually am, at my core, completely batsh*t. Every few years, though, I shed this exoskeleton, and this is when things like platinum blonde hair, doing keg stands with my aunt, and moving to Florida to work for a fascist rodent happen.
Some people eat the oatmeal on their first day and happily resign themselves to a life of creepy grinning, waving, singing, and an unsettling dedication to a supreme overlord they will never see. They cry at orientation, because their dreams are coming true, and they use the word magical so much that it loses all meaning. Everyone walks around in a docile fog, intensified by the humidity, slack smiles plastered to their faces that don’t quite reach their eyes.
During training, I tried really hard to be into it. I clapped politely when a guy in a mouse suit walked in with our name tags, while the girl next to me started hyperventilating like she was meeting the Pope. [I thought of photoshopping a picture of the Pope wearing mouse ears here, but I decided against it. If there’s any chance my soul isn’t a completely lost cause at this point, I don’t want to consciously tip the scales.]
As the months at Shmizney World progressed, I realized that I was not among my comrades. The complete lack of intellectual stimuli was steadily sapping me of the emotional strength I needed to go on. Orlando offers convenient, single serving experiences. The problem is that when you live in Orlando, you must continue to intellectually feed on the same experience over and over and over. Imagine, if you will, having one book that you have to read for the rest of your life. Also, that book is Twilight.
It was early September when I escaped. I ran for The Mitten without a backward glance. Standing in the rubble of a failed career, a failed relocation, and a failed relationship (did I mention I moved down there for a guy? No? I moved down there for a guy.) I could choose to be pretty miserable right now. However, looking back on my nine months in Florida, I feel like I’m waking up from a really drugged out dream. If nothing else, it’s given me a really solid concept of exactly the kind of life I DON’T want.
Give me new experiences. Give me trials. Give me challenges that I may overcome. For the love of all that’s good, give me reality, and let me fight for the happiness that I deserve.
That, my friends, will be a magical day.
No comments:
Post a Comment