Life in a Thrashing Machine | Page 2

work in the Simpson's stock room, three years ago, before I started University."
The man jotted down something in the margins and looked at his applicant after he was finished. "Tell me about yourself, Mr. Peploh!" the man had asked in a tone of voice that made Vlad feel like that man didn't really want to waste his time on him.
Vlad hated questions like these because he always felt like he was being put on the spot. His only thoughts, now, were to get this over with and get out of this place.
"Well," Vlad began. "I'm punctual, reliable and above all, I'm honest. I work very hard at things that I find interesting and enjoyable . . . I'm fairly enthusiastic about learning new things . . . I figure that the more that someone knows, the more he will be respected."
The man looked at him with eyes that were void of any compassion or humanity, and Vlad knew that he had to keep himself in line; according to the suggestions listed in the government's pamphlet on job searching.
"Will you be continuing with school?" the man quickly asked him and Vlad shook his head immediately in a strong manner that suggested "never"!
"I'm planning on working for a while-for as long as I can, actually. I'm mostly looking for a full-time job during the day time so that I can keep my evenings free. You see, I'm a composer and I have developed disciplined to write music during the evenings!" Vlad nodded his head in a fashion that looked as if he believed this man, lying through his teeth.
He extended his hand to the man and thanked him and after the man reluctantly shook it, Vlad buttoned-up his jacket and left the store. The wind slapped hard when he was finally on the sidewalk. He felt the cold creep up the back on his jacket. He began to bitch to himself about the situation that his life had been in, for so many years. Many times he found himself wishing that he was a boy once again, living on the prairie with little worries or responsibilities. This was one such time. He watched the wind lift leaves into demon-like spirals, up into the higher stories of the grey, tomblike buildings. This sight reminded him of his early years in Manitoba, when he used to spend hours upon hours playing in the hot summer sun and giving names to the dust devils that were created by the slightest breezes that came off the plains and into the town.
Even though each season was severe in its extremes, Vlad loved the prairie. Standing in the middle of wheat fields, he could see nothing but grain and sky for miles, and these were the times that he felt the closest to life, to all of nature and to the universe itself.
However, Vlad was a child on the prairie and he had no choice but to adhere to his family's wishes, which eventually lead to their move into Ontario and the subsequent change of lifestyle that followed.
Remembering the prairie had no longer given comfort to him and in fact, it now added to his feelings of loneliness and depression. That was an odd set of feelings within him. Although Vlad was now an adult, he still could not understand how he could be so alone with so many people around him, and yet, when he was by himself on the prairie, he didn't feel so absent from life.
Vlad had managed to calm himself while he made his way to the King Street Mall, where he was going to have a coffee. He concentrated on his quick steps trying to get out of the cold wind when he could. By the time that he pushed his way through the glass doors, his eyes were tearing from the tiny bits of dirt and garbage that the wind heaved at him. His hair was made unruly, too; so before he went further into the mall, he combed his hair and brushed off some leaves that still clung to him on several places. It was warm within the mall, and the only thing that bothered him was his walking behind people who were taking their sweet time moving along. He wasn't that much in a hurry but sometimes things turned out to be ridiculous. Once-in-a-while a maniacal craze would seize him when he realised that the bastards in front of him were purposefully moving slowly to annoy him. He would eventually let the feelings pass from him, however, and he attributed the people's behaviour to the general impoliteness of this town.
He was bothered by the atrocious music that was played over the mall's public address. He couldn't understand how any sane person could listen to a polka version of MY WAY,