In the little town that I live in, there’s always been this sign in front of the ice cream store that I work in. It depicts a face grinning stupidly wide, and has a caption stating, “SMILE!” When I was little, I thought nothing of it, just another sign promoting adult propaganda. As I grew up, I started to think more of the sign. Why was it there? As far as I know, it hasn’t and will never, inspire anyone to smile. In fact, I think it makes the ice cream store seem kind of trashy, but hey, as long as they keep giving me a paycheck every week, I’m alright with it.
“Hey, you’re gonna be late!” My subconsciousness shouts, tugging at my feet, urging them to transport me to work, and of course, my feet are just as unwilling to move as my mind is. Finally, deciding to move my feet and mind begin to move me, working in perfect synergy, allowing me to arrive at work on time and without a mouthful of dirt.
Upon arrival, I’m greeted with a screaming from my rather, uhhh, feisty coworker. “You’re late again!” He screams as the vein in his neck bulges at a rather unhealthy size. “God, do I have to do everything myself? That is the second time you’ve been late this year!” You know, the funny thing is that he’s been late fifty seven times this year. Anyways, I slip on my uniform and take my place at the cashier box. Soon, people of all sizes begin to file in. What confuses me is the fact that people are eating ice cream at 9:00 in the morning.
As the dreadful pain of dealing with snappy customers subsides, I being to fall into the “groove.” That’s what we call the slow dazy mood that one will fall in, and while in the “groove,” one won’t be conscious of the world around them and instead do their job slowly and drowsily. As hours slip away like minutes, my lunch break finally comes. Breaking outside, the warm air welcomes me with open arms, as I charge to Chipotle, my first choice for lunch. It seems that I’m not the only one who has the idea, as I’m met with a rather large line. Shuffling through, I finally make my way through the line, and sit down at a table for two, the other seat reserved for the lack of a companion.
Gobbling through the burrito, I begin to truly appreciate the small things in life. The steak in this burrito for example. I have no idea how it goes so well with the black beans, but regardless of the witchcraft done to it by Chipotle, it is definitely making my day. Oop, time to go. Inhaling the rest of the burrito, I get up and walk back to the newly proclaimed hell.
Right after I pass the stupid smile sign, I step through the doors of the ice cream store and I embrace myself for the dull yet painful atmosphere that the building contains, but instead I’m blasted with the rage of once again screaming cowor- wait, no. This red face doesn’t belong to my coworker, it belongs to my boss.
“LATE AGAIN?” He screams with intense rage. “THAT’S IT! I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU! GET OUT OF HERE!”
“What? Why? He’s been late fifty seven times! Why am I getting fired for being late two times?”
“YOU SEE! IT’S THAT ATTITUDE! GET OUT!”
Slowly shaking my head, I turn away and walk out the door. As my footsteps echo in the emptiness of my mind, the world around me is encased in a slowly descending cloud of haziness. On my way out, I notice that the smile sign is gone. The sign that says, “SMILE!” The sign with the stupid face. The sign promoting adult propaganda. The sign that’s been there for years, up until this moment. Walking home, I wonder about the sign. Did it hold importance? Was its disappearance correlated to the loss of my job? WHY IS IT GONE?
The door of my apartment opens, welcoming my pain. The wound in me, is not from the loss of my job, but the loss of the smile sign. Why does that sign matter so much to me? Does it have some importance? All I know is that the loss of that sign is the loss something much more and important. The loss of something personal. Something powerful.