The Ticket

Tuesday April 12th, 2016

Dear fucking diary,

Am I doing this correctly?

I think so.

Now I’m supposed to write about my day. Right?

So here it goes.

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.

Did get fired.

The end.

…

You think my therapist will accept this as a first diary entry?

What do you say, Helena? Good enough for you?

You’re going to read this anyway, seeing as you asked me to send the entries to you.

So why not talk to you directly?

Yeah, let’s do that.

...

Dear Helena/

Nope.

Helena,

You asked me to write down anything that happened. As much detail as possible.

So here you go, all the glory details of my spectacular life.

Today totally and utterly sucked.

As usual, I woke up at five, took a shower and headed to work.

I’ve told you about my job before. Selling tickets at the grand station.

Side note – it’s not that grand. That’s just what it’s called by the townsfolks.

Because it’s one grand station for five neighbouring communes.

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

Back and forth, Six times a day. Except on Sundays, then it only goes twice.

So much for a grand station, huh?

First thing I did when I arrived, is buy me a decent cup of coffee. Then I said hi to Benny – told you I’ve got friends – and walked to my desk.

Though cubicle might be a better way to describe it, seeing as it’s surrounded by glass.

At precisely six in the morning, the gate opened.

People flooded in. Lots of them.

And of course, they all ran straight to me, because there’s only one ticketing desk.

Why the fuck do they only have one?

Why not buy one of them fancy machines that print the ticket for you.

It’s not like my job would disappear, because there’ll always be old folks who prefer a person over a machine. I’d still sell tickets.

And by the time everyone’s caught up to that fancy technology, I’ll be retired.

I’d just have to sell less tickets.

Less work.

Sounds pretty good to me.

But we don’t have that machine. So getting people their ticket is all on me.

Yay.

I’m getting sidetracked.

Back to my day.

It started out as a good one. Sold lots of tickets. And even though it’s pretty boring, time flies by when you’re actually doing something.

Who would’ve thought?

Before I knew, It was twelve.

Lunchtime.

I ate behind my desk. Didn’t want to go 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 they charge here and two; I’d have to talk to people.

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

I’ve tried talking to them. Just like you asked me to.

I swear.

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

Except for Benny. The one I mentioned earlier.

He owns the coffee shop in the right far corner of the station.

Doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask me about my personal life.

I like him.

But not enough to eat my lunch with him. Besides, lunchtime is a busy time for him, so I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

Ergo, I ate at my desk. Alone.

I’d closed the little curtain to get some privacy. No better way to sign I’m unavailable then close the curtain.

Though apparently still not clear enough for some people. Because out of the blue, I hear a knock on the window.

I’d decided to ignore it.

It’s my lunch break. No trains scheduled until one, so they still got plenty of time to buy their ticket after my break.

They knocked again.

Still didn’t answer.

Again.

Again.

I threw open the curtain.

“What?!”

Granted, I didn’t sound very polite. But in my opinion you shouldn’t disturb people on their lunch break.

“I’d like to buy a ticket.” It was a middle-aged man. Perhaps a good ten years older than me.

He had annoyed look in his eyes.

I immediately didn’t like him.

“You have to wait until twelve thirty.”

“But I need a ticket now.”

I’d almost thrown the curtain shut. But I’d promised Benjamin – the new manager – that I’d work on my ‘people skills’.

So instead of throwing my lunch in his face, I took a deep breath and repeated that he had to wait (quite proud of myself for that, thank you).

The bastard didn’t get it though.

“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 scuffed.

Asshole.

“Sell me a ticket. I have to catch the train.”

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

“Lady, I-“

I shut the curtains. I’d had enough.

He knocked again.

And again.

Couple of more times.

And then that final knock before the peace and quiet returned.

I remember doing a little prayer of thanks when I heard him stomp away.

Then went on to eat my lunch.

Five whole minutes.

That’s how much quiet time I got before someone else knocked on the window.

I didn’t answer. No way I was going to fall for that twice.

But they were relentless.

They just knocking.

“Sharon, open the curtains. Now.”

That was Benjamins voice.

I’d cursed internally.

Thinking that the dickhead from earlier couldn’t have been such a bone head that he’d have gone to my manager.

But there he was. Proving me foolishly wrong.

“Hi there,” I’d said.

“Hi there?” his face was red with anger.

“You prefer hello?”

Apparently Benjamin didn’t find that funny.

“Open your door.”

I’d sighed. Loud and obvious. But opened the door anyway, welcoming Benjamin to my humble cabinet.

“What can I do for you?” I’d tried to sound as innocent as possible.

Might’ve worked fifteen years ago. But as a thirty-nine year old woman, I apparently couldn’t get out of things anymore by appearing an innocent, sweet thing.

Not that I ever was. But I at least used to get away lots of things by pretending to be one.

“Don’t fuck with me, Sharon. You know damn well why I’m invading your personal space with a pissy face.”

“So you admit to invading my personal space?”

Wasn’t the right thing to say.

Because he said: “You’ve had plenty of warnings. Pack your things and go.”

“You’re going to fire me in the middle of the day? Who the fuck is going to do my job then?”

“How hard can it be? You sell goddamn tickets.”

“Don’t underestimate the system. It’s a bitch to work with. Almost as bitchy as you.”

“Get. Out.”

I wasn’t going to fight him on it. Figured it wouldn’t matter. So why put any energy in something that was doomed to fail, right?

I did what he asked.

Packed my things.

I made a quick stop at Benny’s to get a coffee for the way home. I had to wait almost ten minutes. So many people drinking coffee on their lunch break.

But once I got it, I grabbed the drink and left the station.

But right before I stepped through the gate, I heard Benjamin call my name.

I’d kept walking.

Fuck him.

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

Then an entire conversation followed.

I’ll write it out for you:

“Yes, my lordship?”

I might’ve said that drooping with sarcasm. But I did just get fired, so go easy on me, Helena.

“I-?”

He’d sighed loudly. As if it was hard for him to say whatever he was about to say.

“You, what?” I said.

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

I’d stood there for a minute.

Then laughed. Loudly.

“You done?” he asked impatiently.

“Almost,” I’d chuckled.

“What’s so funny anyway?”

“That the guy that earns four times my salary can’t even figure out the fucking cashier system. It might be a bitch but it’s the most basic thing there is.”

“It’s not doing anything.”

“You have to use the key.”

“I did! The stupid thing won’t open.”

“Did you use both keys?”

“Both?”

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

“I’ve only been here two months.”

“Then ask someone else.”

“The system is over thirty years old. You’re the only one to have touched it in the past seven years. The thing hasn’t even been updated since before 2001. Please, Sharon. The train leaves in ten minutes. People are getting nervous. Nervous people make for unpleasant customers.”

“Sorry, Benjamin, I just got fired. Remember? Not my problem anymore.”

“Then I rehire your.”

“So you can fire me again the moment I show you how it works? No thanks.”

He scuffs. “I won’t. At least not if you behave.”

“Ah,” I’d clicked my tongue to emphasize my annoyance. “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 good employee, okay? You do the hours no one else wants, you’re never late and you don’t stalk my ass for a higher pay. But you also damn well know that you have an attitude problem.”

“Attitude problem?”

I’d been a little offended by that.

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

“A cunt with an attitude problem. What a way to convince me to come back.”

“Where else are you going to work? You honestly think anyone else is going to put up with you?”

I had to admit that he had a point there.

“Fine.” I sighed.

And that was that. I went back to my cubicle. Showed Benjamin the workings of our robust cashier system. Then went on with my day.

Same old routine.

Sell a ticket, register the transaction.

Over and over.

Until the end of my shift.

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

Well, Helena, you thought wrong.

I said it in the very beginning of this entry: I did get fired.

How, you might ask?

Because Benjamin is a fucking pussy.

That’s why.

As usual, my shift ended at six. That’s when the last train of the day leaves - no need to sell any more tickets after that.

I grabbed my coat, closed off my cubicle, walked toward the gate.

But again, Benjamin came running after me, shouting my name.

“What now?” I’d asked.

He’d started scratching the back of his head.

He didn’t throw me any insults. Didn’t tell me I could start with a polite hello and get some actual friends in life.

So I knew something was wrong.

I’d sighed. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, actually.”

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

I’d turned around. But he halted me.

“Sharon, 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-“

“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 how quickly I came up with it.

...

After the shouting, I walked away before he could say anything.

Later tonight I had my session with you.

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.

Oh, don’t forget we’re seeing each other on Wednesday’s from now one.

S.