High: The audition went well, and I’m buzzing! Low: It’s only Noon, but I haven’t heard from the people yet! “I was just admiring your tattoos,” I said to a girl who reminded me of Ash from the back, “I just didn’t want you to think I was psycho or something.” She smiled. She really had the complexion of Ash, and that caramel skin that I love so much to rub my face against. I never thought tattoos were all that sexy before, and have begged Ash NOT to get MORE tattoos. I know they look good now, but in a few years, they’ll look like poop. “It’s okay, I get that a lot,” she said. “Some people even walk over to me and lift up my shirt,” she said, as she lifted the back of her shirt acting out the motion. “You’re kidding?! Well,” I continued, “I’m glad you told me that because I was about to walk over and just rub my face on your back, so…” She started laughing. She was cute. There was something cute about her. And something told me to just give her a big, fat hug. I moved closer to the register and placed an order for some “Om” tea from Tazo. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I figured that would work. The cute girl walked away and started talking to someone else in the coffee shop. I looked at the clock and I had about another hour before I had to be back at the coffee cart where I worked. God. My hands were still stiff from washing them and getting them filthy with coffee grounds. I hate that. I wouldn’t mind working this kind of job if I got more money. As I was waiting for my tea, I dreamt about the possibility of working a bartender job. The girl at the bar last night told me about working as a bartender and how it’s pretty much the same as pumping coffee, but you walk away with more money at the end of the night. And I could TOTALLY stay up late with no problem. It’s the waking up early that I have an issue with. I like waking up early on my OWN accord. With Ash gone, I’d have all the time in the world to work at ni— “That will be $1.50,” the girl said. She added a few ice cubes like I asked. “If that’s too hot for you, let me know and I’ll add a few more, or if it’s too—“ “Nope,” I interjected, “it’s PERFECT.” She looked at me funny, “Is that a real accent?” I realized NOW that I had just said all that in an accent. “No, no… I just….” I was going to explain, but I got side tracked. The cute girl with the tattoos was now behind the register talking to the owner of the shop. She was crying. “I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.” Her boss just looked at her with forgiving eyes, “Don’t worry about US, we’ll be fine. Just make sure YOU are okay. We can cover your shifts not a problem. Just go home and get some sleep or something.” “Yeah… I’m just… I have to work, but I’ll just be miserable.” “I know.” She was crying even more now, and her boss grabbed her and gave her a hug. She kept apologizing, but the boss kept saying “Shhh, stop. Stop.” She pulled away and said thank you and walked away with tears. I watched this with wide eyes. I wanted to do something to help. I mouthed to the girl who was trying to hand me my change, “What’s wrong?” She just frowned and gave me the “I’ll tell you in a second” eyes. I turned. The girl stopped at the door, looking at the hanging painting next to the door. She just stood there for what seemed like an eternity. The Music in the shop wasn’t helping the situation. It was perfectly soundtracked for the occasion. It was sad, and depressing. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. I wanted to see if I could do something, but I figured I’d wait for the story. Maybe she got fired, or maybe she just quit her job and was just interested in making a scene. I didn’t know. I tried to play it off like I didn’t care. I looked back at the girl handing me my change and pointed to the tip jar. She tossed it in and said thanks. “Someone came in here yesterday with an accent and I didn’t know if it was real or not, and she told me she worked for an interactive theater or something.” I slammed my hand down and said, “I just auditioned for something like that! It’s for a mystery dinner theater or something. It might even actually BE a play. The troupe does shows for business parties and stuff. So, it’s pretty cool. I’m actually really excited.” I began to tell her about the crap they made me do and how cool it was. She seemed interested, but I don’t think she gave a rats ass. And I didn’t mind whatsoever. I was just interested in finding out what was wrong. We stopped talking, and I turned around. The cute girl was gone. I turned back to the register. “Her boyfriend,” she said, “just went off life support this morning.” I put two-and-two together and realized that that means he’s dead. My eyes sunk. “oh… Damn. How… How did he, uh… Get ON life support in the first place.” She hesitated. She tapped her foot, and looked around for a second and leaned forward and whispered so low, you could hardly hear, “He hung himself.” “oh…” It’s just amazing how someone’s life could put you in your place. Someone else’s tragedies are sometimes your blessing. Seeing through the plastic walls of the ant farm, allowing you to be a part of the action without having to do any of the work, or deal with any of the trauma, really allows you to realize what you truly have in this world. Your health. Your family. Your freedom. Your love. Your friends. And, life. To think that there are hundreds of people who drive by you, or sit next to you in a café, that are dealing with problems far greater than yours. But the only reason why your problems are bigger than theirs, is because they’re YOURS. Maybe we should all be thankful for the size of our problems by comparison. And maybe, we could have a little bit more sympathy for the person sitting next to us with the sad, empty look.