THE TICKET

Tuesday, April 12th, 2016

Dear diary,

My name is Sharon Walker, and my life sucks.

…

Am I doing this correctly?

I think so. That’s how they always start, isn’t it?

Dear fucking diary.

Mind the fucking.

It’s been a day for swearing.

I woke up at five.

Showered.

Went to work.

Did my job.

Had lunch.

Got scolded at.

Scolded back.

Almost got fired.

Went back to work.

Scolded again.

Did get fired.

The end.

…

What do you think of that, Helena?

It’s to you I’m writing this.

Would this be enough?

No, of course not.

You’d want every detail. Every thought that comes to mind. Just to have the opportunity to psycho analyse my every brain wave.

I’ll just start over.

~ ~ ~

Dear Helena,

Scratch that.

Helena,

Today totally and utterly sucked.

As usual, I woke up at five, hopped in the shower and headed to work.

You know, that fun place called ‘The grand station’. Thought there’s really nothing grand about it.

It’s only called grand because it’s the only station for five neighbouring communes.

It looks big. And it has a spectacular dome.

But it’s got precisely one line with precisely one stop: London.

That’s it.

One train going back and forth all day to drop off fancy dressed men and women to their fancy pants jobs in the big city. All of them looking equally unhappy when they come over to my lovely little cubicle to buy their ticket.

So much for grand, huh?

~ ~ ~

When I arrived, first thing I did was buy my morning coffee at Benny’s. We had a little chat (told you I had friends) and then I headed to my safe space.

That little cabinet, backed away in the corner of the building. All stone walls, with only one big window. Facing the station.

I unlocked the door and went on to start up the cashier system.

The old thing doesn’t work properly, and needs a manual to so much as start it up. But after seven years, I know its ins and outs.

At precisely six in the morning, the gate opened.

People flooded in. Lots of them.

And of course, they all ran straight to me.

I’m certain that one day, they’ll figure out I can be replaced by one of them fancy machines.

But until that day, I put on one of my ‘I’m having fun at my job’ faces and get to selling tickets.

~ ~ ~

The first half went by pretty quickly.

I sold lots of tickets at rush moments, then read a novel when things died down. Right up until another wave of unhappy looking passengers flooded in.

Reading. Ticket rush. Reading.

Before I knew it, it was twelve.

Lunchtime.

I didn’t feel like going to the lunch bar, because one; I’d have to overpay for lunch when I can make one at home for a tenth of the price and two; I’d have to talk to people.

And no, Helena, I don’t ’hate all people’. Just the ones I work with.

And I tried. Honestly.

I tried talking to them.

But they’re al as simple as a donkey’s ass.

Except for Benny of course. My friend.

But seeing as he owns the coffee shop in the corner, he has to work at lunchtime.

Ergo, I ate at my desk. Alone. In peace.

I’d closed the little curtain to get some privacy. No better way to pretend I’m not there.

Though apparently still not clear enough for some people. Six bites in, a knock sounds on the window.

I ignored it.

It’s lunchtime. There are no trains scheduled until one thirty, so they still got plenty of time to buy their ticket after my break.

They knocked again.

I still pretended not to exist.

But they were relentless.

Knocking again. And again.

“I can see your silhouette, lady. Open up.”

I threw open the curtain, “What?!”

A middle aged man looking particularly annoyed stared right at me. “I’d like to buy a ticket.”

“You have to wait until twelve thirty.”

“But I need a ticket now.”

“There’s no trains for another hour, so there’s no need for it. Come back in half an hour.”

He squinted his eyes, ““Why not sell it to me now?”

“Why not wait until twelve thirty?”

“Because I’d like to buy it now.”

I rolled my eyes. “And I’d like to have a magical flying pony, but we can’t always have what we want now, can we?”

He scoffed, “Sell me a ticket,” he demanded. “I have to catch the train.”

“Still got plenty of time to buy it between twelve thirty and one.”

“Lady, I-“

I closed the curtains. I’d had enough.

He, however, hadn’t.

He knocked.

And knocked.

I grumbled, “Stubborn motherf-”

Quiet.

The knocking had stopped.

Peace finally returned.

I smiled. Revelling in my victory, I picked up my fork and enjoyed another bite of left-over Shepherd’s pie.

Six minutes.

That’s how much time I had to enjoy my lunch before another knock came.

No way I was going to fall for that twice.

I dove right under the counter. No way they could see me now.

The knocks on the window finally stopped. Only to be replaced by knocking on the door.

“Sharon,” an angry voice said, “Open this door. Now.”

For a second I thought it might be Benjamin’s voice. My manager.

But there was no way the simpleton from earlier had gone to my manager like a narc.

Right?

“I know you’re in there. Open up or I there will be severely punishing consequences!”

Definitely Benjamin.

No other human being would stay that formal whilst shouting angrily.

I cursed internally, slowly opening the curtain, “Hi there.”

“Hi there?!”

“You prefer hello?”

“Do I pref-” he scoffed, “Open your door, Sharon. Now!”

I sighed, loud and obvious. But I unlocked the tiny door, welcoming Benjamin to my humble cabinet.

“What can I do for you?” I asked innocently.

Though the whole innocence act might have worked fifteen years ago, it apparently didn’t have the same effect as a thirty-nine year old woman.

“Don’t give me that attitude. You know damn well why I’m invading your personal space with a pissy face.”

“So you admit to invading my personal space?” I responded, arms crossed.

Wrong thing to say.

Because he retaliated with, “You’ve had plenty of warnings. Pack your things and go.”

I dropped my arms, gawking, “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.”

He looked serious. That much was certain.

“You’re firing me in the middle of the day? Who the hell is going to do my job?”

He shrugged, “You sell tickets, how hard can it be?”

“Don’t underestimate dear old Gerald.”

“Gerald?” he frowned.

I pointed at the cashier system.

“You named the fricking thing?”

I threw up my hands in mock surrender, “Just saying, he’s a bitch to work with. Almost as bitchy as you.”

“Get. Out.”

“Fine,” I gritted, figuring there was no point in arguing.

It took less than five minutes to grab my things and leave. Every step being watched closely by Benjamin.

Then I walked out without looking back.

On my way out, I stopped by the coffee shop. Taking a seat at one of the empty corner tables.

Benny saw me, signalling he’d be with me in a second.

A moment later, he appeared, two coffees in hand.

“Fired, huh?”

I shrugged, “Perhaps for the best.”

“What are you going to do?”

“No idea,” I admitted.

“Want to sell coffee?” he asked. “Doesn’t pay much but the drinks are free.”

“Sweet,” I chuckled, “But not really my scene.”

“Ah,” he clicked his tongue, “Ain’t hiring anyway.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Just being polite,” he shrugged.

I snorted. “I should probably go,” I said, noticing the growing mass of people. “The one thirty will be leaving soon. I want to be out before the rush.”

“Sure,” Benny said. “You take care, will you?”

I nodded, “See you around, Benny.”

“You too,” he said, already on his way back to the counter.

I grabbed my purse and got up, heading straight for the gate. But right before I stepped out, I heard someone shouting my name.

Recognizing Benjamin’s voice, I ignored it and walked on.

But his ridiculously long legs were way faster than mine, so, of course, he caught up.

Then an interesting conversation followed.

I’ll write it out for you:

“Yes, my lordship?” I said, sarcasm dripping off every word.

“I-” he stopped talking, sighing loudly.

“You, what?”

“I don’t know how the cashier system works,” he grumbled.

I blinked. Then laughed. Loudly.

“You done?” he asked impatiently.

“Almost,” I chuckled.

“What’s so funny anyway?”

“That the guy that earns four times my salary can’t even figure out the cashier system.”

“It’s not doing anything,” he retorted.

“Did you use the key?”

“Of course I did! The stupid thing won’t open.”

“Did you use both keys?”

“Both?”

“Jesus fuck,” I groaned, “You’re the manager. You’re supposed to know everything.”

“I’ve only been here two months.”

“Plenty of time to take five minutes to come and understand the workings of Gerald.”

“The thing is over thirty years old and you’re the only person to have touched the damn thing in the past seven years. Just come and explain it, Sharon.”

I put on an obviously fake apologetic face, “So sorry, Benjamin. I just got fired. Remember that fun moment? This,” I gestured to the station, “ is not my problem anymore.”

“Then I rehire you.”

“Only for you to fire me the second I explain it to you? No thanks.”

“I won’t,” he sighed, “At least, not if you behave. And not if you actually listen to the warnings I give you.”

“Ah,” I clicked my tongue, “Problem is, I can’t promise you that.”

“Jesus fuck, Sharon. Stop being such a pain in my ass. We both know you’re a decent employee, okay? You do the hours no one wants, you’re never late, and you don’t stalk my ass for a higher pay every five minutes. But you also damn well know you have an attitude problem.”

“Attitude problem?”

“Don’t act surprised. You know you can be a bit of a cunt.”

“A cunt with an attitude problem? Damn, what a way to convince me to come back.”

“Where else are you going to go then, huh?” he asked. “You honestly think anyone else is going to put up with you?”

He made a fair point there.

“Fine,” I sighed.

And that was that.

Back to my cubicle I went. I showed Benjamin the workings of Gerald, then went on with my day.

And you’d think that would be the end of it, huh?

Well, Helena, you thought wrong.

I told you at the very beginning of this letter: I did get fired.

How, you might ask?

Because Benjamin is a fucking pussy. That’s why.

~ ~ ~

At six, I grabbed my coat and closed off my cubicle.

But again, Benjamin rushed after me, shouting my name.

“What now?” I asked.

He halted right in front of me. Taking a step back once he realised he was too close for his own good.

Then he just stood there. No ’constructive feedback’ or insults.

Just scratching the back of his head.

Awkwardly.

I sighed, “What did I do?”

“Nothing, actually,” he said.

“Oh, great So you interrupted my walk home for nothing. Good to know.”

I turned, but he halted me.

“You didn’t do anything after I rehired you. But-“

“But what?”

It took forever for him to say, “The guy you refused to serve was the big boss’ cousin. He called him directly.”

“So?”

“He fired you, Sharon.”

It’d been a long time since I’d been too stunned to speak.

But there I stood. Gaping at the teenage looking guy I had to refer to as my manager.

“You promised,” I said as soon as I could speak again.

“I’m sorry, Sharon. Truly. But this is out of my hands.”

“You’re the manager.”

“He’s the boss.”

“You’re my boss. You get a say in this.”

“Not in this matter.”

“You fucking asshole.”

“Sharon-“

I held up my hand, “Don’t.”

Then I came up with a bunch of creative curse words and insults.

I have to admit, Helena, looking back at everything I said, I’m pretty proud of all the things I came up with to throw at his head.

And before he could retort with anything, I turned around and walked off.

He shouted after me – third time today, might I add – only this time he didn’t follow me. Nor tried to stop me.

~ ~ ~

Right after work, I went home and took a shower.

Then we had our session. The one where you told me I should start writing in a diary. Like a fucking twelve-year old.

But hey, whatever you think might help me heal my wounds.

So here you go.

I wrote about my day.

Enjoy reading it.

I’m sure we’ll have loads of fun discussing it in our session next week.

S.