The job at a burger joint wasn’t meant for much. In high school but out of money for food to avoid dinner, I just needed some dough back then. Money in my pocket to get Wendy’s while we walked through Downtown Crossing, the little things. I remember Paola told me this big shot chain had plans to open a store where I caught the bus to go home. Harvard Square hasn’t changed much in almost ten years, but then again, neither have I. So I applied and wore a two-piece suit and red tie for my first job interview. Mother’s influence wouldn’t let me settle. My cheeky smile, suit and word choice caught the attention of my soon-to-be managers, Zach and LC. Maybe the suit helped a little.
Excited to enter the labor force and find my way in this dog-eat-dog world, I worked hard for my purpose at the time. I wanted a camera. Following Chris but taking pictures on an iPhone model at the time did not feel right, like no coat in the winter. I did extra shifts, went without Wendy’s and worked my first double shift, almost ten hours on my feet, greeting and giving out brown bags with sandwiches and fries. I still think my most important purchase to-date was that Canon Rebel T3. Mashuk has it now, after some buyer’s remorse and a neat buck-fifty in my pocket. Once I met that aim, I unwittingly met the dangers of goals thinking. I didn’t splurge on nondurables like fancy food, no. However, with my goal already met, I lost my direction. I didn’t know what to focus on. I was a broken lens. In that period, despite having a means to enjoy music already, I tried my hand then at Diderot’s dilemma. A new camera meant I needed other new things. Suffice to say, the wired earphones to that rapidly obsoleting iPhone begged replacement, like it’d been clocked in too long and needed a ten. So I bought a nice pair of matte black Beats by Dr Dre over-ear headphones. I also picked up an umbrella fashioned with a katana hilt, still with me to this day. But my Beats could not say the same. One day, upon which I had feelings never before experienced, some slick staff member relieved my bag of my sonic possession.
I wouldn’t commit to another pair of headphones until college, a purchase advised by a person of great character, Licata. It occurs to me only now the things we capture and desire reflect us, sure. Gamers want fun, girls just wanna, boys do too. More than that, care for our things truly represents us. I didn’t mistreat my precious sound equipment, no, but I flashed them then failed to properly secure it. Imagine you ride a 37-speed bike, something you could win the Tour de Mexico with, but you don’t lock it up.
This pair, my younger sister handed up to me. Given her new piercings, this no longer meets her needs. It reminds me of this myth. It’s believed that things that are taken care of, that reach a hundred or so years of age, gain a soul. Inanimate objects gradually develop enough character to tell you, ‘Be our guest, be our guest’. So it goes, well-kept items become benevolent spirits. By contrast, mistreated or abandoned things manifest into haunts and vengeful beings. The pair of yesterday might not be with me, but I wish it well. Pity on that poor sap of a thief. This pair, from my sister to me, I may not see last a hundred years. Yet, with the past in mind, I aim to make each minute count.
