Depot Pop 6:45am, Fat Person Murdered

The insulation aisle smells like a dead rainforest.

Part 1

I’m listening to pop music at 6:45 am. I’m at Home Depot. Pop music in every indoor place was a giant mistake that won't go unpunished.

I find a dim corner, shelter from the fluorescent lights.

The insulation aisle smells like a dead rainforest. 

Everyone here is fat and retarded. Fat and retarded go hand in hand. 

My feet are on fire from walking on smooth concrete. 

How many dead indigenous are beneath this warehouse store? Did they curse this concrete? 

Did Native Americans know about stretching?

Yes. Who did they talk to, who did they rest with, when they were alone on a hunting trip or scouting mission? Their bodies. The trees and the sky. The stars and water and all the little animals. There were many animals. They spoke 1,000 languages. None of them html. 

“McDonald’s is for kids anyways,” says the employee with the largest ass I have ever seen. The how’s-that-even-possible level of fatass. 

Health insurance is $850 a month and you get nothing. How could that be?

The answer is gross and it’s all around you. 

10X fat shaming. 

(Health insurance is a scam by the way.)

*In the boardroom with sugar peddling executives*

“People are realizing it’s not fat that makes people fat, it’s sugar.”

“That's fine, we’ll tell them Fat is Beautiful.”

“No way that works.”

“Joe, these people are idiots.”

Obese is distilled decadence.

Message for fatasses: Stop eating until you’re done eating yourself. 

Don’t eat one gram of sugar, ever. 

You will not try, you’re too far gone. Idiot.

. . . 

What’s the opportunity cost of losing faith in a better world? 

Every single citizen hates the system, but for lack of a good coordination mechanism it endures. From a god’s-eye-view, we can optimize the system to “everyone agrees to stop doing this at once”, but no one within the system is able to effect the transition without great risk to themselves.

Scott Alexander, Meditations on Moloch

Part 2

I made the mistake of playing a Joe Rogan podcast. It was Eric Weinstein garbling physics aliens government conspiracy theories. I don’t know shit but I know I don’t give a damn.

Breathing is more important than worldly trash they speculate about.

Deep inhale, hold, slow exhale. 

The trash today is Eric was wrong about aliens, they might be real because the government could create a secret university creating PhDs to study anti-gravity while tricking other physicists to study string theory and some super smart physicist (Eric compares to Voldemort) said things that don’t make any sense. The government contacted Eric that they have something big to release but Eric is confused because there’s no other physicists who know about this. That was three years ago and the government still hasn’t told him the secret alien anti-gravity secrets. I wonder why?

I don’t.

I turn it off and return to work at Bome Tepot, inhaling toxic dust as we dump lumber and building materials down to the trash chute, toward the water, to make the frogs gay.

“Tastes like Leukemia” – my coworker

What a fucking waste of time.

Today I cut one board for one customer and threw out a bunch of shingles and defective boards. This job is a joke. Some stupid asshole told me not to sit on a box. He goes “What are you doing? We don’t take breaks on boxes in the aisle.”

Go fuck yourself, home depot career loser. As you waddle through the parking lot to your 2002 Nissan that doesn’t go over 60 because you're too fat, I slit your throat and you stumble choking on your blood and smash your face on the Nissan window. You’re so fat that the car alarm goes off. Everyone turns. No one cares. Your fat body freezes in a pool of cold blood. No one cares. Everyone goes home.

In the morning the store opener gets the fork lift and dumps your frozen blubber down the trash chute. Another defective product.

We don’t take breaks.

Employment of this sort is where dreams go to die. It’s where Loserville begins. It’s a death sentence. It’s the place you go because you can’t be alone any longer. It’s the reason this world is ugly. Because we can’t be alone.

Because the frogs are gay. Because the food is fucked. Because everyone is ugly.

Because there is no dream.

No quiet. Always shitty pop music.

There is a smidge of God left, his coat tail got stuck in the door as He slammed it shut behind him after the rationalists and shareholders told him to fuck off.

Part 3

I look into her eyes. So real and true. 

We hold eye contact.

Time passes; no idea how much. Either 10 seconds or 100. 

We start talking at the same time. She snarkily remarks “Am i making you uncomfortable?”

“I thought your eyes were more blue.”

I love blue eyes.

“They’re gray right now. This morning they were blue.”

She pulls up a photo of her morning mermaid eyes.

A manic customer walks up. We work at Home Depot. He’s looking for 2x4x8’s, which are four paces behind him.

I help him gather his wood.

He reaches for a board and knocks one onto his other hand. I dodge the crash. He says “Are you alright?”

“I’m good, are you ok?”

“The pain will go away” laughing manically. 

I attempted to tell Ivy this fresh anecdote but she’s typing in her phone. I stopped talking.

Without looking up she beckons me to continue. I walk away. 

“No where are you going?”

“I don’t talk to people while they text.”

Now she looks at me.

“Phone. Away. Now.”

She loves that.

I leave work early to play in an indoor soccer game. Ivy was not happy and did not believe I was going to play adult co-ed soccer. But that is the case. 

I want women at my soccer games to see me roast losers.

In past lives I killed animals and people, with spears and clubs and bare hands. Blood everywhere. In front of everyone. I chased them down, outsmarted them and bashed their brains in. Now I embarrass people with a ball and crush their will to play.

I want women at my soccer games.

Watch my breath and I'll watch yours.

After I bag four assists and two goals we are winning, but not by much. I exit to the sidelines.

“5 minutes left guys, put in the work.”

I double down. “I want to see pouring sweat!”

My sideline teammates smile and one says “dude you were running like the whole time.”

That’s what you do in soccer. I don’t respond.

“Do you workout?” he asked.

“I run every day.”

“Every day?!” Him and his buddy hoot. “How far??”

“Couple miles.”

“Couple miles!” they holler. 

These young “men” are fat. Not obese but any pre-1970 human would scoff at their physique. They look weak and inept, because they are.

It’s surprising they took a hiatus from video games to play 20 minutes of soccer once a week.

I dribbled half the team, beat the goalie and crossed the ball straight off my teammates knee into the back of the net. It felt as good as my other goals. To his credit he was in the right place at the right time.

Part 4

I read this piece aloud to my two friends. I have five friends, by the way. 

Tim: Ely what do you think? 

Ely: Um honestly. . . I’m surprised it’s as good as it is. Your style is like Mike Ma but better.

Tim: I’m also surprised it’s as good as it is. How are you going to publish this?

I’m going to nut up and buy a bunch of my own books and try to sell them. Most of my audience wants a physical copy, since they don’t read off gayPhones.

Part 5

Let me tell you about bome depot. The cashier is nice. Nice body, but not a slut box. Not a virgin but not a woke. Likes older guys. Friends with everyone. Parents not around, lives with grandparents. Daddy issues for sure.

I took a hat. 

There was a hat in a bucket and I took it. I went to Ivy. “Should I buy this hat? It’s on clearance for $13”

“I don’t know.”

“Is thirteen a good deal?”

She’s the cashier today. 

“I don’t know. Are you buying it?”

“Are you checking me out right now?” I ask?

“Take your apron off” she tells me. 

“No.”

“Take your apron off”

“You’re checking me out right now!”

“Strip” she demands.

I never go to the robot checkout. I like to ask the cashier if she’s checking me out right now.

I rip the tags off the hat and throw them in the trash can.

"If I stole this would you tell on me?"

"Yes."

I put the hat on and stole the hat. 

I couldn’t keep it though. Too much weight on the conscience. 

My roommate gave me a block of cheese, I gave him a hat.