Episode 5: Zoloft....I'm not depressed.... really

The jaundice color of the narrow hallways made my head start to spin. The doctor called me into the office and I took a seat on the feng shui couch located dead center in the room. I started to feel a bit uneasy as I awaited her first words. The room was strangely stereotypical to what you would envision a psychiatrist’s office to look like. You know, the awkward couch were thousands before have told heart felt stories of their personal love life, the day the cat died, and repetitive excuses for the abusive levels of alcohol intake on a daily basis. The room started to close in on me as if were some insane asylum applicant awaiting acceptance to the nearest funny farm. The doctor looked up from the results and simply asked me: “what happened?” So I began to tell my story.

            It was about two weeks ago I ran into an old friend of mine at a coffee shop. We caught up on 3 full years of silence, and at the end she asked me a question I wasn’t quite ready for. After three years of not talking to each other for whatever reason, she asked me if I would ever consider “us” again. At that moment….I went on…I believe my jaw could have tied my shoe laces. I selfishly had to admit that in that three years of time she had never left my mind no matter how hard I tried. I wasn’t obsessed, I promise. I’m not the creepy type of person who keeps pictures under their pillows at night and has saved every single relic that some how ties to her….“Oh look, it’s a toothbrush…I’ll bet she brushes her teeth every day.” As much as I tried to move on with the rest of my life, there was still the floating picture of her in the back stages of my mind. And finally after three years of dead silence that picture came to life. I guess I forgot to mention the monster it has turned into over the last two weeks. I’m not talking about her specifically but more so the monster medicinal affects it has had on my life. You know insomnia, schizophrenia, bipolar, borderline, ADD…and the list goes on. I have slowly become a walking ball of stress. Until eventually I hit the wall.

            It was a cold December night…..ok not really, but lets face it everyone loves an introduction with cold and December. It was about two weeks ago when I was working the closing shift at work. My mind was flooded with thoughts, not unlike any other day. But today was slightly worse. The store was busy with people buying shoes for the weekend hikes up to devils head, and every single person didn’t have the slightest clue what size they needed. The store was in chaos. Too many people and not enough workers. I was the only one working in my department and the six o’ clock rush just set in. after about a half an hour of helping clueless customers try on shoes, find their kids, and offer them rewards cards, credit cards, and warrantees, my head started to revolve. It was an uncontrollable spinning sensation when all of a sudden the floor literally came up and smacked me in the face. The next thing I knew I was lying in a hospital bed with six doctors in scary white masks talking medical gibberish. “I think his valve levels hit maximum capacity and the ending product was a convulsion causing a taxing state of mind.” I think it just means I got too stressed out and I collapsed for no apparent reason.

            She looked at me intently as if I was out of my mind and said: “I want you to take three deep breaths…..with me now….one…..two…..three…now we are going to explore the source.” After that little exercise I felt like I was sentenced to an anger management course. What’s next? Yoga? She sat forward in her chair and asked me “So how did all this make you feel?” At first I wanted to bottle up because she was treating me like a depressed golfer who lost the PGA tour. Then I found myself opening up a lot more. It felt kinda nice to be able to spill everything going on in my mind to someone I knew was listening. I had slowly become another addition to “The Couch”, telling my heartfelt stories of my personal love life, the day my heart died, and repetitive excuses for my abusive levels of coffee intake per day.

            She handed me my prescription and closed the door firmly behind me. I felt like I was on a mission walking out of that building. Grasping that 3.5”x5” prescription paper like it was life, I power-walked my way across the parking lot. Ok it was more like a jog, but don’t tell my doctor. I nervously turned the key to the car hoping no one was watching me. I felt like I was being followed the entire way to Walgreens. I pulled into the pharmacy drive through and inserted my prescription into the giant metal box. I have always wondered why that box is so darn big. Are there really pills that large? I sat and pondered who chose the work uniform for those who work there. They aren’t really doctors, so why do they get to where the long white majestic capes that pretty much say “I save lives” just by the way they look. I’ve always wanted one of those. The lady working behind the counter screamed into the microphone: “that’ll be $64.91 for your prescription of ZOLOFT.” I honestly don’t believe she could have said it any louder. The guy in the next lane over looked at me with a smirk on his face, then gave me the chin up nod. I sank in my seat hoping no one else could see me. I gave her my debit card and waited patiently. She came back with a brown paper bag that had big bold letters on the outside that said….you guessed it….ZOLOFT. She stared at my car window with those piercing eyes and said: “here is your ZOLOFT, get better soon, and thank you for choosing Walgreens.” They might as well have put a giant neon sign that said “this guy’s on Zoloft” with a giant arrow pointing right at my car. I sped away and headed home. I’m honestly not depressed. Zoloft is just a booster for energy hormones. My doctor says my nerve endings that control stress levels were shot, and a few weeks on this medicine would do the trick.

            I pulled into the parking spot of my apartment and went upstairs. “back to reality” I thought to myself as I took my medicine and headed off to my office for another long night of homework. I sat at my desk hitting a pencil against the keyboard trying to muster up enough creative energy to finish this long paper for psych 310. I suppose I could write my auto biography for the paper. That would be sufficient enough information about psychological disorders. I’m only kidding of course, but then again I’m the one on Zoloft.

Episode 4: Daydreamers Paradise....or nightmare for that matter

I pulled into the once so familiar grocery store parking lot. Ever since I stopped working there so long ago, I have been intimidated by the very presence of the place. It almost makes me feel like I just dropped my commitment to an over paid elite assassins club with dirty little secrets. I would always picture insane deli workers with oversized meat cleavers, and the stains on their aprons were not from the organized lamb chops behind the neatly cleaned glass. And what’s with the operator voice? “The call parked for the meat department on 121…” I would almost wonder if those numbers really meant anything or if it was coordinates in the store for the next available target. I sat and watched commercials for the new release film called “eagle eye”, and would always chuckle saying “I know that lady….I worked with her.” It was almost like a utopian community. Everyone was dressed the same, and nearly everyone who worked there was probably born in the upstairs office 59 some years ago, or signed the dotted line to be part of The Union.

I caught my breath as I turned the corner down the frozen foods isle hoping to find the once famous TV dinners. I had a strange feeling it was going to be a long night, and microwavable dinners are faster anyways.

I made my way back down the florescent white isle to the checkout. It is almost a store where you need sunglasses to block the intense light from your eyes. From another perspective it might remind some of an insane asylum just because of the color. It is however, picture perfect for a hostile holdup scene in a good film. A scene where tall men with twelve gauge heavy duty weapons, and masks made out of old black dress socks barge the stores and open fire on the frozen food glass cases just because they like the sound.

 I turned the corner and made my way to the high tech self check out lane, where anything short of a retinal scanner and finger printing machine would quickly get you on your way….and oh yeah, the same operator lady voice saying “thank you for shooting *white noise*…Shopping with us”….lets just call her Deloris. It seems to me like these days most automated computers are named old English names; like Jarvis from Iron man, or Deloris the car from Live free or die hard (hence where I chose the name for our mysterious operator voice.) I made a mad dash to the car door hoping to avoid any contact with the fraternity members…*cough cough*....I mean my old co-workers. Needless to say grocery shopping has been and always will be just another adventure.

I pulled into my parking spot and climbed the 20 flights of stairs equipped with thermo lasers and razor blades slicing about my every move….of course I just made that last part up, but I like to make climbing the stairs an exciting part of my night whenever I can. I opened the door to my apartment only to be greeted by my piles of unfolded laundry and stacks of paper from my college text books. Maneuvering my way around such obstacles is exercise enough, thus why I don’t need to.

I popped my TV dinner into the microwave and waited the three and a half minutes for the reassuring ding indicating that my food was ready. Of course after a few bites of my delicious prepackaged chicken cordon blue and frozen corn, the cold sensation on my teeth told me the food wasn’t quite done. I stuck it in for a few more minutes and waited patiently.

Albert Einstein once quoted: “stick your hand on a hot stove for five seconds and it feels like an hour, spend an hour with a beautiful girl and it feels like five seconds. Now that’s relativity.” Somehow this quote is exactly how I felt waiting those three extra minutes of cooking time. I simply couldn’t get it off my mind. It’s been about three years since we last talked about this. The whole concept of us just wasn’t clicking in my mind. After all this time I never would have thought that the flame of interest could still possibly be there. We both went our separate directions for what seemed like ages. I pursued school and work while keeping my personal and social life on a minimal scale. I went on a few dates here and there. Nothing too drastic. I would imagine the most drastic it ever got was the tower of terror at Disney Land with a group of college buddies and my “date.” Non of these social encounters amounted to much in the end. I have decided over the years that I am not a fan of small talk. I suppose this is something I knew all along, but it resurfaced itself once I got to college. To be completely honest I could care less about the results of the weekend sporting events, how boring lecture was, or nitty gritty details of the next 10 page paper. I feel like conversations have so much more potential than that. Which is probably why in part I avoid most conversations that don’t go much further than “Hi, I had a cheeseburger for lunch today. How was your cup o’ noodles and yogurt?” She on the other hand stayed completely focused on school. We were both alike in the sense that we competed for first place in the race to Valedictorian…She won by the way. I graduated in the top half of my class, but that doesn’t say much considering our class could be counted on two hands and two feet. So with that in mind I sat at graduation and listened to her inspiring speech on perseverance, dreaming, and of course “congratulations, we did it!” From that point forward we lost communication. I went off to school on the west coast, and she went off to the east coast. Little did I know we would eventually cross paths later on.

Back to the point. After hearing that our life paths were going in similar directions that fateful day in the coffee shop, I couldn’t help but try to wrap my head around the concept of resurfacing old high school “emotions”, and strapping on the helmet for one more run down the sideline….ok I am done with the sports analogies. This is what happens when work consumes more than 50% of your life. I can only imagine what I am becoming as a result of my past job experiences. I don’t want to grow up ten years from now and be described as a John Madden with a meat cleaver selling shoes in Southern Texas.

It just didn’t make any sense. We headed off to school in two completely different directions, chasing two conflicting career choices, and all of a sudden a cup of coffee changes the future. Ok so it’s only been a day, but the concept of it all blows everything way out of proportion.

I glared back down at my now cold TV dinner as if I was waking up from a deep sleep. Every time I think about these things my mind drifts off to la la land for another “adventure.” If my life was a movie this would be the point where the twilight zone song would start playing and the room would start shrinking. I can only imagine how much further my belittling daydreams have to go before stooping down to that level of intelligence. I finished my dinner and watched Monday night football with John Madden before quietly diminishing into my unconscious state of mind….

 

To Be continued…..

Episode 3: Caffeine Nirvana....

My eyes slowly opened to the alarm clock blaring in my left ear as I rolled out of bed. Rolling out of bed isn’t as easy as people tell you. There is always the risk of physical strain on ones self as the body physically rolls making a 2.79 foot plunge onto a hard half inch cushioned carpet. The Irony of the statement is that I don’t even roll out of bed, but there is something not all that American about “rolling out of a futon.” That sounds more like some kind of Japanese illness. I came down with the horrible futon illness over the busiest weekend of work and now I’m on workers comp. Of course that last statement was a tad sarcastic.

 I woke up to the fresh scent of coffee filling the room. I will admit that Folgers had it right when they said “the best part of waking up is folgers in my cup.” No matter how much of the stuff I drink I still cannot go a day without walking into the local coffee house for an afternoon cup of joe. This of course is usually the only thing going through my mind the entire day; before work, during work, and after work. Even now it engulfs my mind like some kind of nirvana.

I finally managed to get out of bed and walk the three and a half steps to the shower. I take a short glimpse at the mirror. Just enough make sure I don’t over kill my warrantee. I know what you’re thinking. Why would I bother buying a warrantee for a mirror? Well let’s just say my luck with mirrors hasn’t been so good over the past few years. I brush my teeth like I do every morning. 138.9 brush strokes and no exceptions. I feel almost like Harold Crick from “Stranger than fiction” sharing how many brush strokes I make. To be completely honest I totally made the whole thing up.

The morning commute was pretty much the same as every other morning; cars honking, people screaming, creepy people singing…out of tune, and my favorite, fellow business men talking to themselves in the rear view mirror. Don’t get me wrong it is a totally fashionable thing to do. It is a pronunciation exercise that all men do on their way to work. They simply look in the mirror and say this line….I will not cut up during the meeting today….oh wait never mind….*clears throat*….I will do my best today. Of course people look down on this psychological exercise as stupid and pointless, but at the heart of the matter it isn’t about the words, it’s about the meaning. I once did a speech in high school about the importance of self recognition. Let’s just say that the teacher recognized that I needed a little self improvement. Never the less I am still a supporter of men who talk to themselves in the rear view mirror. I am more a fan of singing. I love to sing the words of all my favorite classics from Shania Twain, Taylor Swift, and Faith Hill, and from a rare occasion I like Brad Paisley and the rest of the crew. OK I’m kidding…..not about the Taylor Swift part just for the record.

I woke up this morning telling myself today is going to be a good day. I have officially requested from the department of National defense to change the date of the D-day holiday to yesterday. I think it was pretty comparable. Bombs were exploding, people making mad dashes, and of course the emotion of it all. Well the bombs were more like coffee spills, and the only one making the mad dash was me, but it still felt like the worst day ever.

I pulled into my usual parking spot on top of the parking structure which seemed to take forever to climb. It is almost a hindrance enough to install an elevator for cars. Now wouldn’t that be something. It would be very similar to the sketchy freight elevator at work. Ah yes work. I work at a shoe store. Well more like a sports store, but we sell shoes. I haven’t quite found the time to grow up and find a real job, but this works for now. I have been there for the past few years now, and haven’t had the motivation to quit. So I guess I’m stuck there. I did however manage to pull of full time hours; which was one hour longer than I have always worked.

I punched in for another long day of selling shoes, dealing with not so intelligent people, and coworkers who don’t know how to do their jobs. I’m not pessimistic at all just for the record. I don’t like to see the glass half empty, nor half full for that matter. Just a simple composition of 50% substance and 50% air. Not that hard people. 8 hours seem to pass by faster today as I cant get my mind off of yesterday. Am I insane for thinking about it too much? Probably, but somehow my mind thinks it wants to ponder on it for a while.

It was getting to the end point of my day when loud speaker paged my name over to the registers. This wasn’t unusual to hear such a page, but when I caught a glimpse of why I was paged, the walk down the concrete “yellow brick road” to death just got shorter. She stood about a hundred feet off in the distance. Just enough to throw the winning post route pass for the TD…way too much work. They say the sports analogies never seem to die. She smiled at me as if I was the prodigal son coming home from years of squandering….horrible example, but then again so was Mona Lisa….what’s done is done. I was already clocked out for the day…unfortunately, and all I wanted to do was to avoid anything that would put the surviving brain cell’s from the previous day’s events to work. I could tell by the anticipation in her voice that just wasn’t going to happen.

 

To Be continued…..

 

Episode 2: So I had a bad day.....

Coffee was everywhere. We both made a mad dash for the napkins while behind the scenes the creepy looking employing silently grabbed a mop. He would look over his shoulders every so often with one eye brow raised as if he was a wannabe character from the Bourne Identity series. I can only imagine him humming the theme song to Mission Impossible, pretending the mop in his hands was a super spy camera with night vision. My hands were still shaking and my heart was still racing as I still couldn’t believe she asked me such a question. I was in shock and didn’t know exactly how to respond. She looked at me with those deep eyes apologetically as if she put me in the worst possible situation ever. Don’t get me wrong it was definitely a doozy, but it’s not like I haven’t been there before.

We cleaned up the mess and it seemed as though every single eye in the entire coffee shop was staring right at me as if I was wearing superhero pajamas and bugs bunny slippers. I looked down at the coffee stain running down the front side of my slightly lighter colored blue jeans. It wasn’t on purpose that I avoided using the term baby blue. Just the thought of the word baby combining with my favorite color demented my masculinity just enough. The beard wasn’t quite enough to cover the flowing red color beaming from my face. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a smirk on her face. How embarrassing I thought to myself. Everyone has bad days, but come on now, really? This bad? As awkward as it was I told her I would think about what she said.

We tried to continue conversation, but it seemed like everything she said rhymed with “coffee stain on your baby blue jeans.” I finally said I had to be on my way. We said goodbye and ‘promised’ to keep in contact. By that of course I wasn’t planning on calling anytime soon. The thought of living with the embarrassment of the coffee stains on my jeans in just the right place didn’t settle very well. This of course meant I had to find a new coffee house to call my home. I couldn’t bare to go back and have everyone say “aren’t you the guy who spilled coffee down your front side of those ridiculous baby blue jeans…..yup that would be him.” And I thought my quadruple venti, no whip, extra hot, shaken not stirred, upside down, non-soy, fat latte was embarrassing enough.

Walking out of the store was like the baton death march. Those thirty steps to my car door seemed like 4 miles, and the entire time I was having play backs of those marines scaling the walls of the grand canyon in the GoArmy commercials the entire way. Of course at the end of my trek, I wouldn’t be clothed in the navy blue, gold, and white uniform. Just my baby blue, and now brown, coffee stained jeans.

 I turned the key in the ignition only to find that the needle on my gas indicator wasn’t quite climbing as high as I hoped. I was just waiting for a low billowing voice to pour out of the radio saying, “haha Just kidding, you have enough gas.” But no, just another fine addition to my already bad day. This of course meant I would have to stop at a gas station and again expose the “watermark” on the front side of my jeans to my fellow Americans investing half a million dollars into their 3 miles to the gallon Jeep Rubicons, SUV’s with DVD players, and $30 million dollar rims.

I inserted my credit card into the pump and of course it couldn’t read my card. Over the loud speaker the man behind the 3 feet of bullet proof, transparent, carbon fiber glass called me into the store to pay for the pump. I walked in to the store and the man smiled as if his intimidating voice is the reason for the COFEE STAIN on my blue jeans. I paid for the gas and was well on my way.

Talk radio has become on of my favorite ways to release my mind from the pressures of the world. “The ride home” with Bob and Larry is usually entertaining at best. The show is filled with comic relief when it comes to sports, politics, and random ways to improve your life….“this message is sponsored by triple pane windows, windows that pay for themselves.” Today must be the day that I have a giant target sign painted on my forehead because the next part of the show was all about prepping for valentines day even though its 7 months away. The rest of the show was a blur. All that came to mind was what she asked me, I couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. It’s almost like my car was on auto pilot, and the only thing keeping me from getting pulled over was the skeleton sitting in the front seat. If you didn’t catch my drift, I am the skeleton.

I’m sure my face looked something just shy of the grim reaper when I looked down at the vibrating sensation coming from my left pant pocket on my coffee stained baby blue jeans. It was her. I contemplated answering. This would be a first for her to call, so I figured I would let it go to voice mail to see what she had to say. I haven’t spoken to her on the phone for a while so I am far too out of practice, if that is at all possible. Sure enough the verizon wireless theme song started playing as a friendly indicator that I have a new voicemail. I called my inbox as my fingers started to sweat and my heart raced at a similar pace to earlier this morning. Over the phone she seemed a bit nervous while stammering on her words. She was just checking in to make sure I was doing ok, as well as apologizing for the awkward question she asked me. She thanked me for my time and said she hoped we could do it again. Of course the best part of the message was that she left her phone number. You know the same one that pops up on my screen the minute I hear Hannah Montana’s “I Got Nerve” in digital surround sound from that one centimeter by one centimeter speaker with a mini sub woofer. I don’t blame her, I would have done the same thing……

 

To Be continued…..

Episode 1: Mass hysteria and a cup of joe

I turned the corner and opened the door. The bell chimed at the local coffee house indicating to the workers one more caffeine addicted customer has just entered the premises, red alert. I glare intently at the vast variety of choices outlined by the colorful chalk menu board above the counter. Suddenly my eyes were blinded by a sweet aroma of perfume. Not any kind that I could personally recognize but if I had to give it a description I would say it would smell something like walking past the perfume counter at Dillards or JC Penny. Not that I do that very often, but I’ve had my trip around the block Christmas shopping from year to year.

Beside the point….I regained my thoughts and tried to regain memory of the soft voice whispering in my ear “guess who.” I shuttered and caught a glimpse of a memory from the past. It was an old friend from a few years back. One that I hadn’t seen in what seems like ages. A smile filled my scruffy, bearded face, as a time lapse of memories jogged across my mind. I turned around and saw her. It seemed so much like a silhouette scene from a Hollywood blockbuster when two people separated by time accidentally run into each other like fate took over. I don’t really believe in fate, but more so in God’s plan, however the word fate and Hollywood almost always go hand in hand.

We continued through the line of people. Some rushing of to their nine to five jobs, others enjoying the long exposures to wifi sitting in their comfortable chairs while shopping on ebay. I stammered through my ridiculously long drink order as though I was back in the third grade learning how to enunciate. Good coffee comes at a great price, including a vocal one. My quadruple venti, no whip, extra hot, shaken not stirred, upside down, non-soy, fat latte; which is just short for a plain latte with no whip cream; was one tongue twister I had been practicing every day for the last three years. Ok, I’m not going to lie to you, it probably was more than once a day. I always enjoyed the part of the show when the barista would repeat your order back to you.

Back on track now. We got our drinks and took a seat in the back corner of the store. Sitting faced to face at a small round table with awkwardly uncomfortable wooden chairs, was exciting at best. But I knew that from the second I sat down it would be a journey to the past to catch up from where we last left off. It had been quite a while since we last spoke, our high school days were long gone….ok they weren’t that long ago, but it seemed like forever. We sat and shared exciting stories that college had brought us, trips we took, people we met, good times, bad times, you name it. I sat and listened attentively as she rambled on about John Doe, midterms, and this one time in the cafeteria when the meatloaf tasted like cardboard….and oh yeah finals. Yes it all came in that order. Each subject had maybe a sentence or two a piece.

The time went on as I sat back and listened. All of a sudden she got quiet. Not the kind of quiet where she ran out of things to say. Trust me I am a firm believer in the energy bunny, but it simply wasn’t like that. DUN DUN DUN, I thought to myself as I pondered a million different things that could possibly happen. The look on her face reminded me of Mona Lisa without the smile. The sharp intent direction of the eyes told me something was up. After what seemed like an hour of silence, she spoke. “There is something I need to ask you….” Oh no I thought, I knew this didn’t sound good. I sat and pondered looking for the most brilliant, intelligent, insightful way to respond. “Ok” I said as I pictured the angel on my shoulder smacking me on the back of the head saying “good job moron, is that the best you can do?…‘ok’…..durrrrrrrr” Yes it actually did sound like that too. She was quiet for a few more seconds and she finally spoke. “…..

 

To be continued…..