Retail

There is something so perfect about retail. It makes sense. Working for a goal. A goal being to sell. To make the products look as desirable as possible so that someone will buy them. And when you see the new space on the shelf, you quickly run to the back room and fill up the space, because space is bad. The eye wans to see a glorious array of neatly stacked merchandise right up to the edge..tempting in it's shiny plastic coat. All the mangled boxes are hidden in the back. I like to climb the ladder, crawl through the backstock, fill the coffee machine, collect the garbage bags..it's a system that makes sense. Things are done; taken care of and at the end of the day, you have the numbers to prove it.
There is a system to adhere to, a reward for working the machine. Inside, the pseudo life of retail makes complete sense. Everything has its place and if it doesn't, you create a new place, a new display to skillfully tempt more prospective buyers. Inside, I don't have to think of everyday's hazy indecisions/gray unknowns/haunting blank spots/question marks. There is only black and white and fast pace-either yes or no-can you or can't you, and it's easy to just focus on the aisles, picking things up, leading customers around-no questions-only action.
Outside is the world that scares me-that I can't figure out-filled with so many people who confuse me-time that continuously taunts me-either going too fast or much too slow.

And to top it off, I treasure the car ride home-the dark roads-no traffic-music on-Nothing but the moving wheels and the silent thoughts. I love to drive.