Job satisfaction

I picked back up my old summer job, the one at the candy place. This causes me to cast my mind back to my once-upon-a-time job at the supermarket, my first-ever in an endless succession of mindless Jobz 2 Pay 4 Kolij. That one stands alone, though, in that it inspired my supermarket musical, Aisle Six -- the one that's perpetually Between Readings in the city. (This has something to do with my personally having not been in the city much lately. But I digress.) There was just something, something unique, about the way you'd walk into the store in the morning only to be FWOOOOOM instantly engulfed in a steaming toxic cloud of employee hate fumes, mixed with just a hint of whatever the bakery had whipped up that morning. Of course, as you would gradually realize over the course of the work day, your co-workers weren't just embittered crazed foam-mouthed paranoid loons bent on the destruction of all those around them. They were also - and I say this from the bottom of my heart - generally homely.

All of this just totally screamed musical theatre at me.

Anymore, I think only of the musical itself. The experience that inspired it was so unimportant in the first place that generally I forget it even happened. But the candy store brings it all back. Not because it's similar -- quite the opposite, in fact. I've found it to be an unfailingly lovely, non-aggravating place to work. If I were to write a musical about it, all the scenes would consist of me leaning over an ice cream counter idly thumbing through whatever book I had brought with me. Sometimes - in a true Show-Stopping Number - a customer would come in and buy something. The heart-pounding climax would consist of me washing the store utensils for the night, during which I once cut my finger.

Bummer. You don't want to think that experiences like the former only happen once. Or ... wait, yes, you do.

Job satisfaction: talk about your muse-killer!