Derek
lifted the large plastic tub, which he had just filled with ice,
level with the counter, dumped the ice into the stainless steel container,
and sighed. He looked at his watch: 10:25, it said; almost mid-morning,
and five eternal minutes left until his fifteen minute coffee break. Fuck
it, he thought, I'll take it now. He bent down low with a much-practiced
'bowling' motion and sent the plastic tub whizzing down the tiled corridor
into the dish room where it hit the surly dishwasher on the ankles.
"'Bowling For Busboys'!" he yelled (out of habit, mostly, since it had
been a while since he had found the consequences of that action really
amusing), and paced off to the staff room.
...
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He was
extremely conscious of the fluidity of his movements; lighting the
cigarette with the match was the hard part, and he wanted to look as cool
as possible, smooth and flowing, for all the eyes he perceived to be on him.
He managed to execute the task to his satisfaction as he entered the staff
room above the restaurant, but only Karen was there, finishing a butt of
her own. He didn't give a shit about Karen and there was no one else
around.
He felt a frustration welling up inside that seemed incomprehensible.
He thrust himself into one of the tattered chairs which his employers had
so graciously donated to facilitate his comfort, and blew out a long stream
of smoke from his lips, like a visible sigh. Karen eyed him with wary
curiousity, but Derek was busy inspecting the floor. He could hear the
clank and clatter of dishes from the dishroom, and the slamming of doors
and calling of orders as the waiters and waitresses bounced off of and
around each other like atoms in ...
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thought. Derek hated the tube. To
him the T.V. was an insidious invention: it was far too powerful a tool in
the wrong hands, and too easy an excuse for not doing anything yourself.
Derek thought that "The Glass Teat" was a perfect name for it. Still,
there was a good side to it: it helped tie together the world in a network
of communication, which was valuable, provided the communicators were
trustworthy. But Derek felt that most of them weren't. Most of T.V. was
blatant propaganda, and people like Karen just lapped it all up, like
kittens to milk, or junkies to junk. But he didn't feel like explaining
all that to Karen just now. Most of those thoughts were coded as symbols
in ...
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CITE THIS PAGE:
Derek. (2006, November 22). Retrieved November 28, 2024, from http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Derek/55962
"Derek." Essayworld.com. Essayworld.com, 22 Nov. 2006. Web. 28 Nov. 2024. <http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Derek/55962>
"Derek." Essayworld.com. November 22, 2006. Accessed November 28, 2024. http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Derek/55962.
"Derek." Essayworld.com. November 22, 2006. Accessed November 28, 2024. http://www.essayworld.com/essays/Derek/55962.
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