“the pain thorns will bring will be obsolete.”

At the start of my employment, my boss showed me videos of people stealing, and we both had a chuckle about it. How silly they were! There was a camera overhead, and it’s not to watch the shoppers. See, we can’t actually stop shoplifters. They get away with it maybe nine out of ten times. But we, who are watched and tallied and witnessed? We are always caught.

At first it was hard to hold one hundred dollars bills. An amount I had never seen before. An amount that didn’t exist in my household. It’s normal now. Here is something that is not for me.

“What the hell, I’ll take another,” says the man, pondering our 200 dollar watches. What the hell. Total comes to 580 and not even a flinch in his face. I have been working for 11 hours today and made only 110 dollars. It will go to my rent. Today I work for free, it feels. When I get my check, I will have 35 dollars left for food and saving.

The six hundreds he hands me go into the cash register. For a moment, I imagine having money. Then I put it away, counting out his change.

I know for a fact we sell our products for double what they are worth. That I could be making commission. That they could hand me those 580 dollars and change my life and not even mark the difference in their checkbooks. He’s not the only sale they make today, but I am the reason they made it. He’s not the only one spending 600 dollars, but if I hadn’t spent two hours with him telling me about his life, he wouldn’t have spent any. I go home. I don’t own a watch.

I have watched and rewatched a video on how to make salmon four ways. My shopping list is always the same. Pasta. Rice. Tuna. If I can afford butter it was a good week. I dream of the world I will never walk in, where I can throw the best fish fillet in the cart with a shrug. I hold hundreds in my hand and look up at the camera. I put them under the cash drawer.

I go to work. I scrap together my savings. I eat my bowl of rice slowly. My manager takes a paid week off from work just for his birthday. He owns a yacht. 

i was part of their college program. i moved to the state for it. they legally owned the building i was living in and still charged me rent. i ostensibly was being charged to work for them. it was a 2 bedroom apartment and they placed 6 adult women in it in forced triples.

as many as one in ten disney employees have experienced homelessness while working for the company. despite huge efforts to unionize, strike, or otherwise demand fair treatment; disney has refused to increase employee quality of life.

disney admits publicly that a good portion of their success is because the employees (“cast members”) are dedicated, passionate, and selfless. this is never reflected in pay. even “face” characters (ie those that are princesses etc) make barely above a minimum wage.

at the time that i worked there, i made $8.50 an hour. at one point i was asked to create a human shield around a bag because a bomb dog had alerted to it. for eight fucking dollars an hour.

i now work a very cushy office job. i have bought the salmon and cooked it all four ways.

i go to the store. i am nice to the person behind the counter. she looks up at the camera while she counts out my change. there is nothing fundamentally different about her and i.

Then maybe...

Maybe...

People killed: around three quarters of a million.

So, did they save lives? No. Did they make the world a safer place? Not so much. Did they grow the economy? Not at all. Did they modernize the Federal government? Nope. But did they at least save money? Nah.

'obviously kill buck-' 'oh yeah, obviously' (buck, lifting his head up from where he's sprawled in a recliner: hey.) '-fuck eddie, I've got eyes. marry chim for the sweet captain privileges.'

(eddie, from the other recliner, without lifting his head: nice.)

'hey cap,' harry hollers, 'fuck marry kill, ravi, eddie or buck?'

'I'm pretty sure this is a HR violation,' says chim from where he's doing admin at the dining table. 'but uhhh. buck, I'm sorry, you're my brother and I love you, but I can’t. I've gotta kill you-'

(What the fuck?? says buck)

'transfer ravi to another house and then fuck him, I guess. eddie, I'll marry you.'

(yeah ok says eddie around a big yawn)

chim says, 'hen, you're exempt, lesbian card in play.' (thank you lord says hen without looking up from the book she's reading.) 'harry, you're exempt because I need to be able to look your mom in the eyes'

(And because he's, what? twelve? mutters buck.

Im eighteen and three quarters, hisses harry.

Spoken like a true 12 year old)

'buckaroo, fuck marry kill, eddie, ravi or-'

'I'm killing ravi.'

'ah, ah, let me finish! eddie, ravi or your truly.'

'kill ravi. then uh. Uh.' buck clears his throat. (hen lowers her book.) 'I'm uh, I'll marry chim, he, you know, I already know he's a good husband. a-and jee and nash are already buckley hans, so that's. convenient.'

'and you'll fuck eddie,' hen concludes, placidly.

'as a friend.'

'you don't want to marry me?' eddie says, sounding a little hurt.

'I - it's not that I don't want to marry you, I just really don't wanna fuck chim or ravi.'

'so you do want to fuck eddie,' ravi says.

'you said you'd fuck eddie!'

'well duh. I mean, i'm straight but look at him.'

'I'm always looking at him!!!'

an awkward silence. harry, deeply confused, whispers 'what is happening?'

Now take this logic and apply it to things like ADHD, autism, clinical depression, and other less visible/divergent disabilities. You cannot think your way out of feeling.

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