Sometimes, when I'm at the Customer Service desk, register 1, I want to pull myself up on the desk. Sit right where the customers would put their goods. I want to get on the Overhead Page and just talk. Spill my guts through an open-ended phone call.
Attention Staples shoppers, today I ________________________________________ _______________. Fill in the blanks, empty my soul. It would be like a sigh. A release. A confession without the priest, the bench, the tiny booth. Without the 'Bless me father for I have sinned'. Without the 10 Hail Marys. The cleanest confession I'd ever have.
Sometimes, when I'm emptying the ink cartridges into the huge plastic bags, the ones with the big orange 'Staples' on them, I want to throw the ink cartridges across the store. Not the toner cartridges, just the ink. I'd aim for the ones wearing nice clean clothes. Stain their outfits as dirty as their consciences. Our collective conscience is dirty, white parchment, stained with coffee and blood. We all need saving.
We need to scream until our lungs are raw, we need to yell and claw and cry and let go. We need to take the first steps towards our own salvation.
We need to wake up.