2:12 a.m. - Saturday, Jun. 26, 2010
The Hurt Locker
"You know he won't stop putting stuff in there until you take your stuff out."
"What stuff?"
"Your pictures and stuff . . ."
"Hm. He didn't say anything to me about it."
I have four things taped to the inside walls of my vault. When we first opened in 2005, all the girls doodled their names to put on the outside of their vaults. Within the year, corporate operations said we couldn't have our names taped up like that . . .so we had to take them down. I taped mine to the inside, because no one would see it was there. Then I started collecting things. First, a little business card I got from a leadership class I took when I got my first promotion. Then, someone wrote my name in Arabic and I thought it was so beautiful, I kept it. And then a profile of me that Ali wrote for our back wall. And finally, a face made out of stickers that one of our new hires found in my old desk.
These things are a history of the years I've spent here. They make me feel good. They make me feel like a human being when I open my vault to start my day. And they remind me that I'm still human when I close it at the end of my day.
They're hidden so no one will bother me about taking them down. But the vaults are open during the day for anyone with hyperactive tendencies to rummage around in.
So the question is . . .does he really want me to take that stuff down - or is my arch-nemesis just being a fucking bitch? And the answer doesn't matter unless someone actually tells me to take it down.
They don't want you to be human here. I know that. The thought of taking it down kills me. OH! Let's practice! I feel . . .violated, hurt, sad, unimportant, expendable. Things are looking promising. I came up with those all on my own.
I'd like to take a break now, please. And I've only just begun.
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