Planet Earth, Milky Way, Universe...etc.etc....

Today I started my new job. I am now officially an employee in the garden centre at Canadian Tire, Wilson Creek, Sechelt, British Columbia, Canada, North America, Northern Hemisphere, Planet Earth, Milky Way, The Universe...and whatever else goes beyond that, because that can't really be it can it?

This is my first step to saving money to go to another part of this 'one and only' Planet Earth, Milky Way, Universe...etcetera, etcetera... Although with my wage starting at only $8.10/hr and them 'never hiring full time' I'm not sure how realistic my goal is for September of this year.

I got to Wilson Creek early due to the fact that the local buses do not cater to my needs and found myself sitting in the plaza of the Inernational Grocers Association (more commonly known as IGA) outside the local coffee shop. I sat there, non fat, grande latte in hand, listening to John Butler sing about...I don't remember what he was singing about, and let my mind wander, as I often do. I was thinking about...I don't remember what I was thinking about, when I noticed the bees. Or Bee, singular, rather.

Next to my right foot sat a pot of flowers. I should probably be able to tell you what kind of flowers they were see as I work in the garden center and should now be an expert, but, my mind was not geared the same way that it is now, 10 hours later. I watched this bee frantically going from flower to flower, transferring pollen as if it's life depended on it. Did it know that my life depended on it, I wondered?

Do bees know that the whole world depends on them? Do they know that they are serving a purpose? Do they know that if they did not pollinate then there would be no world as we know it? Ultimately everything comes down to this little fuzzy, yellow and black insect (is it an insect?), with sticky legs. Or are they only doing it for one purpose, to make honey? Which, ultimately seems to be for us anyway. Do they actually eat the honey? Or is it for the bears? Do these little creatures do anything for themselves? Or are they completely selfless?

Does everything serve a greater purpose other than living for themselves? Even humans? Maybe everything we do, the fact that I just put my coffee mug down, the way I just shuffled to the right to make myself more comfortable, serves some greater purpose in the universe. Maybe everything we do is driven by something other than instinct and intuition, some greater power and I don't mean God, because if we didn't take that extra step to the right, the world would end. The survival of the Universe and the etcetera etcetera depends on this little planet and me, and the bees, and the honey.

The thought that the survival of the Universe and what lies beyond depends on me, is kind of scary. What if I do something wrong? But maybe I'm supposed to make a mistake. Maybe I'm supposed to fuck up because if I did everything perfectly, then maybe we wouldn't exist. So, maybe what I do wrong, I'm actually doing right?

I looked at the book that I had in my hand in mock-peruse, How To Be Good by Nick Hornby and thought, "Do I really need to learn how to be good, or is it already in me. Natural instinct?". I placed it down on the cold metal table and looked around. People brushed passed me like worker bees, doing their job, because something other than their brains were telling them to. Then I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again, because it felt natural. Then I picked up my coffee, turned up my discman to Ani Difranco, and drank like the survival of the universe and what lay beyond depended on it, because who knows, maybe it does.


Little Plastic Castle
by Ani Difranco

In a coffee Shop,
In a city,
Which is every coffee Shop,
In every City,
On a Day,
Which is every day.

I picked up a magasine,
Which is Every Magasine,
And I read a story,
Then I forgot it,
Right away.

They say Goldfish,
Have no memory,
I guess their lives are much like mine,
And the little, Plastic Castle,
Is a suprise everytime,
And it's hard to say,
If they're happy,
But they don't seem much to mind.

From the shape,
Of your shaved head,
I recognised your silouette,
As you walked out,
Of the sun,
And sat down.

And the side of your sleepy smile,
Eclipsed off the other people,
As they paused to sneer at the two girls from out of town.

I said "look at,
you this morning,
You are by far the cutest,
But be careful,
Getting coffee,
I think these people wanna shoot us.
Or maybe there's some kinda local competition,
Here, to see, who can be the rudest..."

People talk about my image,
Like I come into dimensions,
Like lipstick, is a sign of my declining mind.
Like what I happen, to be wearing,
The day that someone takes a picture,
Is my new statement,
For all of Woman kind.

And I wish, they could see us now,
In leather bras and rubber shorts,
Like some ridiculous team uniform,
For some ridiculous new sport,
Quick,
Someone, call the girl police,
And, file a report.

In a coffee shop,
In a city,
Which is every coffee shop,
In every city,
On a day,
Which is every day.