I had been looking for a job for such a long time, because I thought that it would somehow complete my identity. It's a foolish thought, but that doesn't matter much. The type of job has been even less important, as I'd just wanted to do something difficult and rewarding, something low that could give me meaning.
So I dressed up nicely today in hopes of covering up the fact that I'm a high-school drop-out that hasn't felt much lately or helped society budge very far from its rut. I went in there and wore self-confident facial expressions that I wasn't too sure of in the first place. I went in there having a good feeling, being strong, seeming to be stable for the first time in weeks. There was a person there who "helped me out" that was hired instead, and I find out that the reasoning is that I may as well have taken a ticket number. He arrived "before me", even though I was offered the job and had attempted to get it for some time beforehand. I wish the manager could've just told me the truth; that I wasn't very capable, hiring me would've made her look like a incompetent because I have no experience, almost no education, I was just an unknown blend of something that has sit back all these years and waited for things to fall into its lap. She could've just plainly told me that hiring me would've made her look stupid, as I'd known it anyway. I just thought that this was the last time I would have to try and that I wouldn't be kicked anymore, as I have been for years.
This was one of those silly little things people tend to bet on to make their life change. We often think that if "this" works out, everything else will, and when it doesn't, we fall apart. So after I left the store I sat in my car and tried to think of things I could do to keep my composure. I felt myself flailing for any sort of self-worth I could conduct anymore, and it still seems ridiculous to me that I thought it would fix everything. I kept producing and releasing thoughts over and over again, and then I looked up and saw a cigarette store nearby. Like the manic person I was, I got out and stepped into the rain, while thus barreling toward the store without any accuracy as to where I was going. I went in, attempted to shield everything, bought a pack of cigarettes, then went back outside again holding my change. When I was out, I could hear the sound of a guitar. I turned and saw a friendly looking gentleman beside the store next to me, with his acoustic guitar and a nearly empty case that was still holding out, being open, trusting and ready for any kind individual to throw whatever scrap inside that they felt necessary. I took my ten dollars in change and threw it in, then sat down on the portion of ground near him that didn't protect me from the miraculous rain. I was reminded of that day I spent in San Francisco, playing music in hopes of someone or anyone listening or caring, let alone giving me money. I was reminded of how many people just passed by and pretended I wasn't there, as I was pouring out my soul and my weakened conceit. My self-confidence tarnished by a few measly dollars. So I gave him my money, I didn't care. Money is nothing to me other than a ticket to England these days. But I can acquire more of it. This man was doing as I had done, playing his music and giving the gift of it to people who weren't even listening. So there I was, sensing such a kindred way of life, sitting in the rain like a fool, being moved to tears by the music. Those around us looked at me like I was the most unstable thing they'd seen in weeks, but I didn't care at all. What is a person who can't be out in the open and feel? It was so much like being broken, not much empathy from his side, but he gave me an astonishing sense of gratefulness. Soon after, I got up and decided to go home. I looked him in the eyes and thanked him. It was entirely sincere. I'll never forget it.