The Sharpest Lives

The second Gerard walked into work he sighed and wished he’d called in sick. The regular flow of customers had made their appearance already, paying for their overpriced finds and leaving to make room for more people.

The store was cleverly named Happy Daze, and it sold everything from t-shirts to bongs, voodoo dolls to penis-shaped key chains, and it was a terrible place to work. The owner of the store was a man named Joshua Williams, and he hated Gerard.

Wearing his uniform, which consisted of dark skinny jeans, black All-Stars and a t-shirt that read “Lapdance Tester,” Gerard signed in and began stocking shelves with robotic parrots that cursed to no end and Beer Pong balls. With yet another sigh he grabbed a pair of box cutters and slashed through a package, pulling the flaps up to reveal a boxful of voodoo doll key chains. He chuckled quietly at them, practically shoving them onto hooks on the shelf.

Gerard absolutely hated his job, and everybody else who worked there. He’d never had a real conversation with anybody besides his boss, but he could tell they were all against him. It was really quite obvious if you really observed his coworkers intently. They would snicker in his direction and whisper to another, “Oh, look, he’s the one that smokes and leaves the butts just anywhere, the one that lives alone. He’s cold hearted.”

Gerard was not cold hearted. He had no way of proving this, of course, because of his lack of a social life. He spoke to his family every so often, and they made him happy. But even his closest relatives shied away from him now and then. He didn’t really care all that much, because they were nothing like them anyway. He was very much the cliché black sheep of his large family, always had he been that way.

After a few hours of unpacking, Gerard had earned a break. He walked outside of the store and into the alleyway beside it. He leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette, mulling over the day’s events so far. Nothing interesting had happened at work for him in a long time. He had a feeling it was because his boss had never taken a liking to him, and therefore never felt his day should be brightened by a pleasant work shift.

The rest of the day passed in a slow, lurching manner. He worked; he smoked and worked more until the end of the day, where he closed shop at around ten o’clock. The bus ride home wasn’t any different than usual, and the second he walked in the door, he slipped off his shoes and jacket and fell into a dreamless sleep.