The Strangeness

The day began at just before 11 am, with the same old route I had taken hundreds of times in the past… one that was suddenly jam-packed with lines of honkin’ cars…

The one thing I’d forgotten about on this road: it becomes a living nightmare when the students return to campus.

I quickly texted my boss between red lights (and stalled trucks) to let her know I was on my way, but just a few minutes behind.

This wasn’t the first time I’d ever messaged Donna like this - completely apologetic for my tardiness - but after 18 months without practice, the strangeness of this old familiarity slowly settled into my heart…

***

Finally! The parking garage comes into view after a sluggish fifteen minutes. Only five minutes late now - Woo! Still got it!

I hurry down the stairs and through the main entrance of my old Alma mater, of both my education and my induction into the world. The wide concourse curves out and around the front of the stairwell, guiding visitors and patients alike to the first steps of their desired destinations.

I race pass a blue, over-sized golf cart, cruising in the opposite direction and carrying a few visitors back to their parked cars. I don’t recognize this driver, so I know they must be new.

At one point during this not-so-long-ago career, I would’ve exchanged quick pleasantries with the driver like ships passing in the night.

The Strangeness in my heart grows a little bit.

At last I reach the gift shop, whew! The newest, shiniest, and, most times, favored jewel of this not-so-little hospital. New faces greet me upon entry - and old faces smile back with pleasant surprise.

I’ve always loved these volunteers, who always find the extra time to help us ring up a cash register or two. I’ve missed talking to them almost everyday. I’ve missed swapping stories, and cracking jokes, and terrorizing the occasional shoplifter.

I’ve even missed the dang cash register, even if some prices have gone up (a sad inevitability). Then again, I’ve always been pretty good at memorization, so I know I’ll relearn the new numbers very quickly.

The Strangeness grows again, despite my outward confidence.

The one thing I don’t miss: the descent into the basement.

Maybe it’s because it puts our inventory so far out of reach of our shops. Maybe it’s because of the mad-dash-quagmire that ensues whenever a customer asks,

“Do you have any more in the back?”

Maybe it’s because, as a first-first-time newbie, I got lost in that basement for a quarter of an hour… I can laugh about that now. Maybe it’s because the old familiar storage room - the one I cut my teeth on as a salesgirl - is already long gone… converted into a new facility for a completely different department.

A twinge of sadness fans the flames of the Strangeness still budding within me…

But those feelings are completely forgotten when I lay eyes upon the mansion of the new storage room…

“There’s a kitchenette in here, too? I thought we were only joking about that!”

Now here was where all the familiar faces resided: swiveling around in their desk chairs, greeting me with beaming smiles. Squealing and laughing like little school girls again, I completely forget the Strangeness for a brief, happy moment.

It settles back in as I begin my old stocking ritual:

Roll back the shelves,

Double check the SKU,

Mark it off the list,

Repeat.

Now this was a system I hadn’t used in a long time… not since the younger employees and seasoned volunteers started calling me “boss.” But as my badge announces to the world, I was no longer “the boss” of anything - I just stock the shelves and run the machines.

The Strangeness only grows: three sizes this time, as I push the cart back up to the gift shop.

I wasn’t prepared for how jarring the lunch-break would be. Funny, isn’t it? You’d think that would be the easiest part of the day.

But having grown accustomed to a much longer break time, I scour my surroundings, trying to find somewhere quiet to enjoy my thirty minutes off my feet.

I’d forgotten how crowded this hospital gets during this time of day: employees and staff, in the same predicament as me, scramble for the best seats and tables in the cafeteria and through all of the hallways. Families and visitors search for their preferences, but at least are free to meander at their own pace. Even patients, who were well enough to venture out of their rooms, roam the halls and floors as they hunt for a snack or a place to rest.

Suddenly, as I ravage my leftovers, the Strangeness begins to ache.

The second half of every workday can go in one of two directions: either no one comes in for long stretches, but then, suddenly, someone posts a tweet and the shops are slammed with customers…

“It comes in waves.”

Or, on the other end of the spectrum, a steady stream of shoppers filters in and out until closing. I realize I still don’t have a preference, even after 18 months.

When times are slow, I chat up the newly trained co-eds as I walk about the sales floor - dusting the shelves, adjusting the merchandise, restocking the cooler. And when times are busy, I catch up with the volunteers, each of us instantly chained to a sales station.

I love the banter from both parties; everyone’s learning something new at any given time, and it’s comforting to have someone in the fox-hole with you.

A new manager comes in to review what I remember about closing time; there’s a lack of experienced clerks right now, though a crop of promising new-hires are coming very soon. She’s a sweet and funny woman, my replacement -

oh! That ache again!

- and is more than patient with me as we go over closing systems of the day. Keeping the snacks full and ready for the morning: no brainer. But counting down the money… Well, that’s a little more tedious. I’ve forgotten the exact amount that needs to be ready.

The aching Strangeness is kept at bay when my manager points out the “cheat sheet” in the corner slot of the cash drawer.

"Oh thank you, God!"

The process takes longer than what it used to. A year and half ago, I could knock it all out in less than ten minutes… I was that good. But now, and in that time, so many things have changed. So much for me to realize something I hadn’t considered before....

And as I reach my destination, the Strangeness resolves itself, and is suddenly replaced with a new heartache.

***

I walked through the front red door, still feeling nostalgic for the days now gone. My mother waited at the kitchen table, her computer opened to a company spreadsheet. She glanced up when she heard the door close and her brown eyes brightened as I dropped off my purse on the end table.

“How did it go?” Mom asked hopefully.

“Oh, alright,” said I with a faltering half-smile.

“What’s wrong?” mom asked, her eyes narrowed.

I tried to shrug it off at first. But Mom’s gaze never faltered, and so I finally sighed,

“It doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Doesn’t fit?” Mom repeated.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I’ve changed so much since I’ve been gone… and - so much has changed there while I’ve been gone…”

Mom reached over and gripped my hand.

“I don’t think I can squeeze myself into a job I’ve outgrown,” I explained. Mom nodded reassuringly and patted my hand thoughtfully.

“Well, what do you want to do?”

I sighed deeply, stared up at the kitchen ceiling.

“I think I need to talk to Donna,” I answered, as I closed my eyes. Then, a dry laugh escaped my lips and I withdrew my hand to bury my face in it.

“We need to talk about me giving my notice… again…”