It's the final countdown: 2.

My last shift is tomorrow and I feel a sort of dread and heavy-hearted sadness about that.  I call it "bitter-sweet" because I wouldn't feel sad if I weren't leaving people I like and care about.  It's only sad because of something that brings me joy.  Paradox (?).


 
Monday, 10 September.


[It's becoming quite the exercise, chronicling out these intense days.]


-Around 8am Jim, "the chip guy" came in and my heart sank.  I'm not like this except when I need to part indefinitely from someone I have a bond with so I don't even know to what I could liken this.  I tend to forget most Monday mornings that he's coming in which is cool because then it's always a pleasant, "Oh, you're here," moment.  Today I was hyper-aware that this was the last.  He put his trolly of product aside and marched right up to the counter cos I had no customers and asked how I was.

I said I was sad and he asked why.  I reminded him that tomorrow is my last day but he had remembered.  He countered that I was, "moving on to bigger and better things." (THAT DOESN'T MAKE THIS ANY LESS DIFFICULT.)

The next thirty or forty minutes were kinda normal.  I was putting cigarettes away and he was working on shelves of his own.  When I realised that not talking to him because I didn't know how to was something I would regret as soon as he left, I went over and started shooting the breeze whenever I had no customers.  It was just weird.

He was trying hard to make it normal for me, to be optimistic and encouraging but there was nothing for it.  We talked about about trying to keep in touch but because I know he's not an emailer, I really don't see how it'll work.  He's a face-to-face-er through and through.  That said, I don't know what the future holds.

When he was done, done, done, packed up and ready to go, he came back over to the counter where I was stocking and drawled his usual: "Well, my darlin', .... I'm off."  We hugged and he said a bunch of reassuring, kind things that I don't remember.  It was such an odd experience: the only way I could tell what I was experiencing and showing on my face was by the way he was looking at me.  It was paternal, kindly and basically urging me to buck up.  Knowing how sad I must have looked made me sadder.  (This is actually a real thing that's really happening.  My life isn't a trial run or front for something else.)

Then he was gone and I barely said a farewell, I just looked and had a watery smile.  Trying to shake it off, I turned back to my cigarettes knowing I looked like a mess and a whole line of Tim Hortons customers saw the whole thing.


-Sean surprised me today because he came in late (around 9) and though I initially read him as having a closed day, he asked, "And how's Jesskah this morning?"  He's never asked me that.  He's never asked me how I am.  Of all days!

I told him I was excited to quit tomorrow.  "Really?"  Yep.  Tomorrow's my last day.

"Then I guess congratulations are in order." (When did he get to be so articulate?)  "Or....wait - did you get a better job?"

"Yeah," I said, exhaling weirdly because apparently talking to him makes me tense up.

"Then yeah, congratulations. Is it around here?  Are you gonna be in Guelph?" he continued as he was walking away.  I fumbled my answer and he didn't understand but he nodded appreciatively.

Sigh.  I get one more opportunity to try to connect with this guy.  He seemed quite surprised to hear my news and about 8% disappointed.  We have such a weak base, I'm not sure there will be any leap made to real-life acquaintances.  But who knows?  I'm praying hard about tomorrow.


-Chuck came in mid-morning and it was finally time to say something.  I've forgone quite a few opportunities in the past ten days because I guess I didn't know how it was going to go.  He was only in for Tims (a rarity) but the line was long enough that he was very close to my counter as he joined it.  I leaned on the counter and said, "Did you know that tomorrow is my last day?"

He didn't hear me so he came close, close, closer playfully.  I repeated myself and he jumped back saying, "What?  No," with a tone completely devoid of playfulness (also an extreme rarity).  "And you just announce it like that??  That's not fair...!"  He's edging back to the Tims line so I have about zero room for defense.  "We're gonna have to chat later," he concludes, not looking at me.  I take my next customer and that's the end of our conversation.

He returns around 2pm and goes for the ATM.  The newest employee is running cash while I supervise so I sidle over to where Chuck is standing.  He's clearly still perturbed and avoiding me so as I start asking if he's giving me the silent treatment, he overlaps sounding like a teenager with, "I can't believe you didn't tell me," throwing his hands in the air and not again not looking at me.  Then, hearing me he says, "YES, it's the silent treatment."

"I thought we had a good friendship going," he says, finally exposing why he's bothered.  I agreed that we did.  He's quiet.

"We could still be friends when I don't work here..." I offer, feeling a bit like I'm coaxing a child from out the closet with a cookie.

"Yeah...." - almost spitefully - ".. we could."

Not sure if he's being sarcastic I clarify with more pep than I meant to, "Can we?!"

"Yeah!" he replies, finally coming around.  "We just need a way to contact one another..." he hints but I've already headed to my bag for a pen and scrap of paper.


-I don't know this guy's name but he buys duMaurier Balanced regular (and later started buying duMaruier Distinct regular as well).  When I saw him get out of the passenger side of a car and the female driver get out as well, I guessed that he'd be wanting two packs this morning.  I guessed correctly, to his delight.  I don't think I've ever preempted the Distinct before.

"Such service!" he exclaims, feeding his debit card to the machine.  I couldn't tell if it was sarcasm ....because he's almost always sarcastic (and the mean brand of it, too).

 Seeing an opp I jumped in with, "Speaking of which, your service will be terminated tomorrow," his face drops a little and gets weirdly serious, "because it's my last shift."

Discerning that I was serious, he extended his hand and shook mine -- without sarcasm.  I laughed because of how easily he had assessed that being able to leave the job I currently had was a positive thing.  It's a refreshing response, I tell you.  It was a little awkward because both my bosses were well within earshot.

We talked a bit about the job, he gave me a sliver of pity and a sliver of advice (ha) and then left with a warm, I-wish-you-well/it's-been-a-pleasure.

(Perfect.)

-Nelson came in on his lunch break.  The new employee was serving and I happened to be chatting to another regular who was hanging out at the side of the counter.  He asked if it was my last day and I said that was tomorrow.  "K, I'll see you tomorrow," he says with determination as she's cashing him out.  I think I just nodded because I was confused.  "What time are you in?" he asks and I tell him.

"OK, I'll see ya." I nod again and then realising he's let down the I-dislike-you facade for too long, he adds, "Just to [flip you the bird]," and I laugh loudly which makes him laugh as he goes.


The regular with whom I was chatting, Shawn, comments to me, "You're gonna have to say goodbye to a looooooot of people," in a sort of sucks-for-you kind of way.  He's somehow assessed that Nelson is one of many, differently from how I've been telling him over the past couple weeks how difficult this transition would be and has been for me.


-Soon after Brendan arrived for the first time that day much to my relief.  He's usually in by 8 and when it was 9 and 10 and 11 o'clock I thought he had the day off and I was regretting not saying a real goodbye on Saturday. I opened with, "I thought you'd never show," (as if he owes me something) and then informed him this was the last time I was going to see him in forever.

"Forever, eh?" (classic detachment of Brendan) "That's a long time."

"Well, not forever.  Basically until I rent another car from you."

"Exactly.  Which could be next week."  He wasn't going to play along with the sadness AT all, which I'm glad for.  Still, I went on to list all the things I was going to have to do without, and he nodded along, allowing me to sound silly in front of the three people overhearing.

As he left he told me I'd just have to rely on Twitter for those things I said I was going to miss.  Having actually forgotten about the Tweets, I said, "Oh, yeaaaah!" with much relief and quickly told him he was free to go/get out of my store/I don't even wanna talk to you, with a rude waving of my hand.  He laughed and made some smart comments and then walked away.

I have no doubts we'll keep up contact as we have, textfully and Twitterfully, even when he was still a regular customer of mine.  And I will probably rent exclusively from them until I leave the city of Guelph or have no need for a rental.


-Mr Shaney-Shane came in on schedule for his start-of-day Red Bull, Powerade and cigarettes.  (Yum!)  At the time, I was stocking cigarettes while trying to explain how to close a shift to the new gal and having the usual exchange of barbs with Shane while my boss served him so I was flustered x 8.  Not a great scene and absolutely no room for me to pull him aside and have a serious conversation -- and not even while he was at Tims or outside at his truck.  He can be kinder if he can see that I'm serious and if I can convince him to let his guard down.  I've been praying for that side-pulling opportunity and so I am still hopeful that I'll get it tomorrow.  I realised on the way home today that even if he wanted to continue contact with me, he'd never ask.  He'd never deign to show affection or interest at that level.

I have a vague idea of how I can meet him 90% of the way and get us to make the leap to real-life but it's dicey.  My intestines apparently think I'm talking to him right now because they're tensing up with nervousness as I type.


Prayer.