This one is a change-up
After having lost an entire article due to some saving issues, I decided to dig deep into my archives. Deeper than my first semester, deeper than my college essay. This assignment, "Rocking Around The Clock," depicts what it was like for my average day of senior year in high school. Each time of the day involves some kind of song that relates to that particular part of the day. Not always is the newest work the best work. Some hidden gems can be found in places unexpected, like my Google Docs account from my high school email.
Please pardon my French.
6 a.m. - beep beep beep beep. Griffin! Turn off your alarm clock and turn on the burner! *snooze** Griffin! Get up out of bed now! **turns on the burner, starts walking back up** Let the dogs out, too. And with those kind words from my parents and alarm clock, and the behaviorally-challenged dogs whining in the background, I start my day on a fairly bad note. I step into the shower, slowly "Waking Up" (Culture Code, Regoton. Jonny Rose). I try to make dubstep sounds or something like that, but find myself falling into the wall and falling into deep sleep under the steaming hot water of the shower. Waking up is not working right now.
7 a.m. - Another day I have to leave to go to school. And another day my house is calling saying “Don’t Leave" (Seven Lions, Ellie Goulding). So are the nuisances, howling and biting at one another as I slam the door and walk out. My mother hobbles along her crutches down the driveway from her recent knee surgery and my sister ignores her pleas to help. I may be a bit biased, but it certainly seems that way, and it pisses me right off. Can you tell that I’m not having a bad morning, but an awful one? It’s the kind of morning, where nothing is going your way, not even the cereal choices.
8 a.m. - Well how about that, the stress levels continue! No surprises here! Damn, that 1,500 word essay is due today! I guess that’s what happens when your manager cuts you an hour and a half after you were supposed to get out. Unexpectedly, I was only able to take that chunk of 100 pages of reading or so for what I had done. I am experiencing "Paranoia" (Darren Styles, Gammer), when every minuscule sound makes my brain tick. But, I MUST get this done, and I WILL get this done, this fifteen hundred-word essay. Oh my gosh, I totally forgot about the French reading assignment.
9 a.m. - I’ve by now finished all of my homework from the previous day, agitated because I got distracted earlier in the day with something like eBay- thus giving me a harder time focusing. It’s all my fault, I’m most certainly well aware. But, hey, at least I sniped that auction in the closing seconds! Anyways, everything is finally "Under Control" (Calvin Harris, Alesso, Hurts).
10 a.m. - I’m a competitive person. Gym is about to be underway and I’m ready to go compete with my buddies. Put on some of my short-shorts, a beaten up T-shirt, and a smile, and I’m ready to go. I’m "Activated" (Code Black, Wasted Penguinz) as I constantly chirp my friends, getting inside of their heads like so many pests in sports do. Pests like Sean Avery, whose jersey I just bought recently. A guy that was hated by many except for the people on his team, who always bothered his opponents. I am the Sean Avery of gym class. In the end it’s all for fun, but it’s a fun time I would certainly choose over other times.
11 a.m. - Come back from gym feeling energized and ready to do more, stepping into AP English with bright eyes and simply feeling "Alive" (Krewella) with energy and adrenaline. Anticipating what Ms. Herlihy will ask me, what I can do to make this a better day for myself! After a one-two study block, a little bit of French and some exercise, I have the components for a potentially awesome day. A potentially awesome day, that I thought at 7 a.m. , would never be possible.
12 p.m. - Almost done with the day! Hyped up about it! Another step closer to getting home, to relaxing; another step closer to the weekend! I can feel the excitement of others as they pass by me, suddenly smirking and laughing at each other whereas earlier this morning, every face had been drowned in relentless hopelessness. The "Levels" (Avicii) of happiness are going up!
1 p.m. - I really hope that the French test earlier on today went well, though I struggled considerably having not studied at all last night. Oops. I’m excited to find out what I got, but also really excited to get out of the Financial Algebra class, where every moment, you seem to be under "Pressure" (Nadia Ali, Starkillers, & Alex Kenji), under heat. Whether it be jamming your fingers into buttons on the calculators or writing the newest set of equations, the clock seems to pass infinitely slowly. Mr. Becker’s wide, beaming eyes, circulating around the room, while I constantly look the other way as to avoid my glance meeting his.
2 p.m. - As Icona Pop has said, “I don’t care, I love it!” These are my emotions as the final bell rings, my day is put to rest, and I walk out the door, excited to take the twenty minute long pathway home that I’ve taken over three hundred times during my high school career. Everything is crazy - "Maximal Crazy" (Tiësto). Cars flying by, kids narrowly avoiding speeding cars on their beaten-down skateboards. Bikers, that wear no item of protection, but only a DC T-shirt and shorts. And then the walkers. Walker upon walker. And the teen drivers. Driver on driver. It is madness.
3 p.m. - I get home around 2:20, and I am about to collapse on the couch, before I realize I haven’t done the dishes or changed the dog’s water. I run around with the last bits of energy I have and start to work away at the chores. My fingers tingling in the hot soapy suds of the dishwater, I finally finish my chores, flip on my favorite mix of all-time, "Classic Happy Hardcore Favourites" (DJ Ravine), and slowly begin to fade away into sleep from the echoes of voices playing throughout my head.
4 p.m. - The ugly part of the day. I wake up around 3:50, and I begin my 40-minute journey to work, starting with ten minutes of shaving, viciously scraping whiskers off of my face- if you can even call them that. I flip on the switch to our oil burner, take a quick bathroom break, and put on a flurry of songs from a custom playlist. “Is anybody theeeere? Uh-oh,” the "Sad Machine" (Porter Robinson) says at the beginning of the song. I want my mom right now... to iron my wrinkled clothes. It’s about 4:05 by now, and I’m just starting my poor ironing methods. Eventually, I’m able to get them presentable, I pick out a sometimes mismatched tie, and attach my small tie clip. I’m out by about four-thirty, and it’s a 10-minute walk to Sebago Brewing Company. About to walk in through the front door, I awkwardly remember what I forgot to do when I left my house. “Zip” goes my fly.
5 p.m. - Oh, just chilling here in Sebago. It’s a bore; a customer here, a customer there. I just stand there, leaning on the desk two feet below me, waiting on my aching feet to serve the next people. I start thinking of how sweet "Summer" (Calvin Harris) is, how I miss it, how I miss the people I met. I realize that I’m standing there lost in la-la land when another group of individuals come in, and I’m lost in train of thought. All that I can manage is a quick “Hi” before I’m tripping over my own words. A bittersweet way to start my evening off.
6 p.m. - The evening starts to pick up, and before long, we’re on a 15-minute wait. Not too shabby. Oh, now it’s a 20. And a 20 to 25, down to the 30! It’s like I’m commentating a Monday Night Football NFL game. Piles of warmly-dressed people cram themselves through the doors. This is "Crazy" (Gnarls Barkley), but I’m finding a groove, finding some peace. At least that during a wait, I get to sip my drink, and just write things down. It’s not too stressful at that point. It’s only stressful when you told the elderly couple 20 to 25 minutes and it’s been 40. Props to them for staying and waiting it out when a table finally does become available. Back into the groove of the working man’s life as the wait shortens and there are things to work on.
7 p.m. - It is busssssy. Waitresses and manager and bartenders flying to the bar, the kitchen, the office, tables. It’s chaotic in here. All I hear is an intertwined fluctuation of a "Million Voices" (Otto Knows). Add in the high-pitched woman who seems to call every night, and it’s like you’re at a party that only dies down once in a very long while. Voices and voices, babies sobbing, adults throwing the F-bomb, and people trying to converse with me as I clean tables, check the bathrooms, and just try to do everything a host does. This sucks. But, hey, I’m getting paid, am I right? Happy to be employed!
8 p.m. - Bussing tables and humming a fine tune as I go; suddenly I can’t take a break, suddenly I can’t even take a sip of my lemonade. I think I’m going to "Lose my Mind" (Brennan Heart, Wildstylez) with all of the things to do. I’m trying to do closing side work, but I just keep getting slammed with customers- which not only I dread, but so do the waitresses who thought they were done for the night and the manager who has to delay the “cutskies.” Dammit, it’s a Tuesday. I have to go up and fold the aprons in the bloody hot attic with the low-cut roof. Not very appealing to the kid who hits his head on everything.
