The Community Ranch

I have a part time job, and I witnessed a literal tragedy, so here is me coping with it. Dea Psychopath, I love working.

So much.

I love the paycheck and the money and being able to pay for shit; and I like to believe that all people are inherently good, including myself.

However.

However.

Customer service has left me staring at the ceiling and wondering if we were just God’s mistake. As if he was busy cooking something in the kitchen and he accidentally poured rat poison in. And then he said “Oh shit!” and then Adam came out and God decided to see where this goes.

And he regrets it everyday.

I’m not perfect- I know that. I tell myself that everyday, okay? And I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. I even try to give myself the benefit of the doubt.

I’m very tired and weak.

I find loose carrots in my pockets. I haven’t ran since freshman year and I haven’t multiplied since junior year.

It’s been a rough few months, okay?

However.

I saw you.

A perfectly healthy woman, possibly in your 40s.

I could have crossed paths with you on any other day, without a concern.

But then I had to see your crime.

And I know God taught me to love my neighbor but you are making it so difficult.

This place is as suburbian as it can get. The health-kick, vegan nuts dream. All you can eat salad, everything vegan, and you don’t give a crap about anything that happens in the back, or that I have an Econ test in two days, three hours, forty five minutes, but I’m here. Feeding you vegan crap because the New Year has rung in and you have coupons that you demand to know the answer to before I can welcome you (because that’s my job and if I don’t we get knocked down points and get less money and then I’m such a disappointment because I cost the company money).

So you go down the line like every other vegan nut and you got mushrooms and lettuce and radishes and I slightly question your taste but not really until you reach the dressing.

It’s ranch. It’s ranch! All ranch tastes the same, right? There’s no good ranch or bad ranch it’s just something to cover the sad taste of lettuce.

This isn’t your ranch. This isn’t my ranch. The only place where communism that makes old white republicans happy. Where it absolutely flourishes in modern America.

This is a buffet.

This is the people’s ranch.

And you tainted the people’s ranch.

Do you know how many people take this a day? I’ve seen over two hundred people pass it and grab it and pour it in their salad.

You didn’t do that. You decided today was the time to commit a war crime. You stared straight in my eyes and lifted that spoon and held it to your lips so you could drink it.

You drank ranch.

You actually drank ranch like it was water and then you put it back.

You drank the people’s ranch like it was your own.

And while my soul was gripped in Satan’s claws and dragged into the depth of hell I briefly wondered if this was against the Geneva Conventions.

And the people around you- the poor innocents who you robbed of their innocence- all stepped back as if you were suddenly nuclear.

And you weren’t bothered by it! You didn’t care!

But then it was my job to fix this. So I ran to fix this before anyone can be infected of your crimes.

Then you have the audacity; the absolute audacity to look at me like I’m the rude one.

And I love everyone. But I’ve never been this close to throwing tainted ranch at someone before. You tainted it, yeah? So this is yours now! Clean up your shit now! I’m not your maid!

You’ve given me PTSD.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

Am I supposed to thank you for making me stronger but also make me heavily consider drinking to cope? What do I do now?

You’re still out there! I let you get away with your crime!