The Tribute Generation ( A new direction home)

"At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles- a restless idealism on the one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other - that kept me going"
- Hunter S. Thompson The Rum Diary



"Did you know you were supposed to come in today at 10?"

My manager, Dan, scanned my face while his own stubbly mouth let out a subtle, "got ya" grin. He was decked from head to toe in Nike athletic attire, a bright yellow Livestrong Tshirt and black warm up pants.

I thought about lying. About saying that I'd forgotten or that I didn't know. But it didn't matter. If I had gone this far in my subtle protest of being fired then I may as well let them know about it.

"Yeah, I knew."

He stood their while I gave a "what can ya do" shrug and smiled. Dan was a micro manager (in every sense of the word, he couldn't have stood an inch above my chin). Never leaving me to a sale, always watching over my shoulder and quizzing me on merchandise. He treated his work with a meticulous nature befitting a branch co-manager. I never liked him.

"Well okay then, I'll go get your check."

"Don't I need to sign some papers, Kathy told me something about that?"

"Nope, just wait here a second."

So I stood in the center of my former place of work. The cold, white, euro-futuristic store was uninviting to say the least. Weird techno music played over the store's speakers invoking a late 90's work out theme that gave me the chills. All this brand identity. All this rhetoric and slogan. I hated selling products, but it was the only job I was good enough for. Too bad I'm such a terrible salesman, I wouldn't have minded recieving a few more checks before summer.

"Hey Evan!"

"Oh, hi Jessica, gosh where've you been? I thought you quit."

Jessica was a bombshell to say the least. She had the most incredible features. Mestizo coffee skin, big bright beacon's for eyes, silky straight hair the sheen of a polished vinyl record, toothpaste tube smile, and of course, the outgoing nature of a Miss America contestant. Her attractiveness could not be overstated. She was too pretty for me and I was okay with it. I stayed flirty and corgial with her and she did too, with the same knowlege of innocence. The acquaintance worked rather well despite it's platonic ignorance.

"Oh no, i've just been studying abroad for a few months in Italy. It's so wonderful there, have you ever been?"

"Yeah I went with my family a while ago, it's great."

"Isn't it though? The people there are so incredibly nice and all the history and countryside; it's really like a paradise almost. And then the food, oh my gosh, I don't know how the Italians stay so thin."

"Probably cigarettes." I said, trying to be funny and receptive to her story.

"What? Oh... Right yeah maybe it's that. I've been back for a week now and honestly I miss it so much. I wish America was more like Italy. We could learn alot from..."

"Here you go Evan, take it easy" said Dan, handing me my check and extending a reluctant but commendable hand to shake.

"Thank's Dan."

I shook his hand and we shared a mutual have a nice life jackass in our minds. Then he turned to Jessica.

"Hello Jessica, how was Italy? I bet you wish you didn't have to be back to work but you gotta pay for that trip somehow right?"

Before she disappeared with Dan into the employee's only door I realized I would not see her or likely this place again. She turned around to wave with that pageant charm blinding me.

"Well, see you later Evan."

"Yeah see you later Jessica."

She didn't know I was fired and I didn't feel like telling her anyway. It's better if things end with a sort of ambiguous lie I think. Like the final scene Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind or Before Sunset. I'm sure the first thing that weasel Dan was going to tell her was that I was fired anyway.

I walked through the doors of this plastic apparel prison and out into the sunlight of a Sunday afternoon. Whatever relief or self satisfying rebellion I felt in that place was replaced with the dread of a few more years of complacent wheel spinning while I tried to find my place in the whirlwind.

I got in my car and fired it up, opting not to turn on the radio and instead drive with the windows down in relative, white silence. The engine roared to life, sucking at the gasoline I could no longer afford.

The sky was blue and cloudless and the warm afternoon breeze was lazy. My family was coming over tonight for my mother's birthday party. Company was the last thing I felt like having.

I took my time driving home. There's no rush to a firing squad for the condemned.