Writing About Place

Squeaky plastic chairs are all the same, they annoy me and make my ass hurt. I guess sitting in one of those chairs at 2:15 in the morning does not help. At least that is what the mounted atomic clock on the wall reads. Out of my peripheral I notice that the employee working the register is fast asleep with his head hanging off the back of his office chair. The main waiting area carries hints of an old fast food restaurant, a box of curly fries a deep-fried corn dog. Yes this place was a fast food joint at least once, if not multiple times.

Just as my eyes begin to feel heavy, a sudden jingle of the bell attached to the door startles me. A woman wearing a Wendy's uniform pushes a stroller with a sleeping baby through the door. The sleeping employee immediately opens his eyes and jumps to attention. Now that he is standing I can see that his name tag reads, "Hi I am Maxamilion! I am here to assist you." The woman finally pushes the cumbersome stroller through the door and approaches the window of bulletproof glass separating her from Maxamilion.

Right on que Maxamilion spouts his rehearsed introductory speech, he does it all with a contrived grin on his face. As Max enjoys the sound of his own voice the woman fumbles through her knock off brand purse and hands her I.D. under the bulletproof glass.

The woman feebly asks,"I need an advance up to until March 9th."

Her raw unedited emotion, her shame in even walking into a Cash Advance spawns a desire to help fix her life within me. Either that or give her old Max's biweekly paycheck.