Oh hey, so The Spontaneity Review has a Facebook page, and it’s a good place to go, because I don’t write super regularly here, but I am writing a little series called Curriculum Worstae for my Facebook followers. You too could be one of them.
Here’s an example of everything you’re missing out on.
CURRICULUM WORSTAE #1 – The Biggest Loser
I’m going to put up some of the little anecdotes from my time working in stupid jobs that probably won’t make it into my book because they don’t fit into the narrative flow or whatever.
When I worked at the airport in Duty Free, I was taking Roaccutane to make my skin beautiful, but the side effects were awful and I was the opposite of beautiful, I was adried out weeping sore in an ill-fitting suit and a stained yellow tie with a barcode motif printed on it. All my mucous membranes were paper-thin and parched, prone to cracking open and bleeding at the slightest change in temperature. This was also an adequate analogy for my emotions, which were also affected by the skin drugs. The subsequent depression is actually why I ended up quitting Roaccutane, but that’s another story for another day.
One day at the airport I was standing behind my little desk, and I was sad. I was the saddest boy that chemicals could make me. I was a one-legged puppy sad, a dying grandmother sad, a suddenly realising you don’t remember your childhood dreams sad, and all for no valid reason beyond harsh pharmaceuticals. A customer came up to me and was standard mean, like regular retail workplace mean, and I realised I couldn’t handle this day any longer. I went to my evil boss and told her I was unwell, and coughed fakely, because depression isn’t taken seriously, even though it is actually more debilitating than a head cold but whatever. She listened with barely concealed contempt and told me to go back to work.
At my desk again I felt a crushing sense of hopelessness, like I didn’t have the strength to get through anything ever again. At that moment, that Shannon Gnoll song ‘Lift’ came on, which was popular because of the television show ‘The Biggest Loser’ which is about inspiring fat people to get less fat. While I was listening to that song, the American hosts of The Biggest Loser, Bob and Jillian walked through immigration and directly towards me. It seemed like time slowed down and that I was actually living the opening credits to The Biggest Loser. I stared at them, and laughed maniacally, and they looked at me, at first kind of scared, but then Jillian recognised the song playing and they laughed a bit too. Bob winked at me as they passed. When he winked, I suddenly felt flushed with confidence. It was that confidence that lead me back into my evil boss’s office.
‘I have to go home’ I stated, confident, Bob’s wink echoing through my skull like a ping-pong ball of self-esteem.
She shook her head in exasperation.
I then took my nose in my hand, and tweaked it gently, feeling fragile things inside tear. Blood streamed down my face in a hot torrent, and I repeated myself.
‘I really think I have to go home, the doctor’s warned me of this… I thought I had longer.’ She looked horrified, and told me to go home. And I did. Thanks, The Biggest Loser.