Michael Seidlinger: The Strangest

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89, which is probably because of the 2 train stopping every 15 to 20 minutes. It just stopped and it won’t stop for another 20 minutes maybe.

It varies and I spend more than a few minutes thinking about the reliability of the 2 train.

I come to the conclusion that its reliability is based on the reliability of the person operating it.

Two considerations: stay outside or go inside.

If I stay outside I have no phone to use and no way to call.

But then there’s always email. I don’t think that matters much though.

I look at the planned tweets.

Sometimes I am better at typing than I am at expressing myself.

What are the repercussions of skipping one day of work … if you work retail? Do I gain or lose points if I’ve worked at the same store for two years?

Does loyalty count for anything?

Does it count against me. I don’t think it will be a big deal because I don’t usually skip work. I am a man of routine.

I think my need to keep a routine prevents me from overstepping my boundaries.

I may be a little strange to people but I get the work done.

My boss probably accepts me at this point.

Please advise.

I look at the time, 3:58PM.

Friends and followers send me links, comment about their experiences, and occasionally tell me that I’m too strange to scare straight.

If I were to call, what do I say? What is considered a good excuse for missing work and not even calling?

I think I don’t care but maybe I’m just scared.

What does that make me?

What about email?

Does email suffice or is there no other way to compensate but via phone call? Email is the preferred means of communication these days. It would be strange, I gather, to call at the end of the day to apologize.

Right?

Sometimes you just have to do things that you don’t want to do. I think we do a lot of things that we don’t want to do but it isn’t until we notice this that it becomes so annoying. And so what if I’m afraid?

It’s tough to keep up sometimes.

So many days and so many possible ways to end up in a social situation that can change everything.

What I’m saying is, I’m worried and I think I’m going to email.

They all seem to empathize. I don’t like that word, empathy. I don’t know why but it makes me think of people going out of their way to inspect you, make you feel like you’re less of a person and more of an object, something being critiqued and judged.

One person says that I’m strange. One other person posts a GIF of someone in a straitjacket dancing to some pop music track flashing the words, YOUR COOL. I don’t know what that is; I just note that it should have been “You’re,” not “your.” Don’t know if that was intentional or not.

I look at the street below, 52 people. 2 dogs. 1 dog barking, 1 dog peeing on a lamppost.

The store closes in three and a half hours. Is that really enough time?

The more I type the more I think I am getting to something.

There’s something to this, and it’s a feeling that isn’t fear but it isn’t not fear. You know? It’s also not really worry but it’s also a little bit of worry.

But then I think and almost believe that I don’t care about my job.

If I didn’t care about my job, I wouldn’t feel this way.

What does this mean?

This part doesn’t get a whole lot of likes.

In fact, I only get three.

One comment. Make that two.

First: It means yous a strange motherfucka.

Second: Please stop whining. We all go through this shit.

I feel sort of angry by this. I guess.

I type out an explanation but then I delete it after I see the word “self conscious.” I look at the building facing me.

Someone opens one of her windows.

Sees me and then closes the window immediately.

I find myself nodding, agreeing to something unsaid.

The email is sent at 4:30PM. Boss replies at 4:45PM. I spend the fifteen minutes reading the various horror stories of work- related emailing on a site linked to me via one of my posts.

In the email, I apologize.

I make it sound honest.

I don’t know why it would be anything but honest.

In the apology, I use the funeral.

I almost forget to name the best friend.

“Andrew.”

I even use a last name but I don’t remember his last name so I use a name I find in my friends list.

“Andrew Brossard.”

It sounds like a real person, right?

It is a real person.

The reply email is eight lines less than mine.

It is one line long. Boss just says—

“We’ll discuss this in the morning. This is unacceptable.”

I reread the email four times.

I should say something. I should email back.

But I don’t.

I feel relieved, to have emailed my boss.

That’s the responsible thing to do.

My boss replied and said it’s unacceptable.

A lot of people comment with their own apologies, saying that they are sorry and that to be careful with what I say and do tomorrow at work.

I make a note of this but I feel relieved.

I feel like the email was positive.

I look at the time. It’s past 5PM now.

Sun is lower, and the colors are more orange than bright yellow. This is the time of day where I usually go outside. Meant to say, this is the time of day where I am outside because I walk home. I walk home all the time. I don’t take the subway. A subway train will almost always have at least 35.5 people. That’s too many people. A sidewalk, on the other hand, has anything from 0 people to more than the subway train.

Most people take the subway train.

I take the sidewalk.

I don’t know how to drive.

I don’t seem to fit in.

If people talk behind my back, maybe they say I’m strange.

My name is like the name on the email I received.

Zachary Weinham.

I’m not strange. I’m Zachary Weinham. If this makes me strange, then I don’t know any different.

I leave the fire escape. I go back inside.

With doors closed, I find that I breathe a little easier. I think about food again, always with food, but I remember that I don’t have anything to microwave.

I think about ordering food. What is needed to order food?

I would have to figure out what to order. I would have to talk to an employee. I would have to talk to the delivery person. I would have to tip that person. I would need money.

I look for my wallet but I give up almost as soon as I start looking.

I open and close the fridge a few times.

I check the freezer.

Options. I look out the window, at the people walking on the street. I go back to the laptop and I reread the email again.

My stomach growls so I check the fridge, the freezer, again. I look in the cupboard. I find some canned tuna. I make some tuna on toast. I eat it using the same plate I washed earlier today.

I watch as some of the tuna juice drips into the sink and down the drain.

Someone knocks on the door.

Who even knocks on the door anymore? What should I do if I’m not expecting someone?

I wait but the person keeps knocking.

Yeah I guess I could at least look and see who it is but I get kind of nervous and anxious when I do that because they can kind of see when you’re looking through the peephole. The narrow bit of light is blocked when you look through, and they can see that. They really can. Warning to everyone that hasn’t figured it out yet: