Opportunity
Week 3, Day 2
Old people, generally only those who’ve had things go their way most of their lives, like to talk about how all you need to do to find opportunity is open the door. Interestingly this only seems to come up when you’re stuck in some way, or just lost your job. They mean for it to be encouraging with a side of guilt, implying that if you were actually busy opening all those doors you wouldn’t be sitting there needing to be told how to live because you’d have figured it out already. Being neither old nor privileged I “get” to hear this “advice” more often than I’d like. Have you ever opened a door and found opportunity? I did, and she was intense.
Get Malik Turley’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
I was preparing for yet another day of repetitive tasks and watching my dreams slip away (they always tell you not to do that, too, for what it’s worth) while standing behind the counter at Percy’s Drugs and Delicacies. Yes, that was the official, genuine, registered name of the establishment where I’d been working all summer. Percy actually existed, too, and could often be found wandering the aisles greeting customers. He didn’t seem to notice that most of them wanted nothing more than to make it in and out of the store without being accosted by him. Some of that lies on his shoulders but, to be fair, the average customer was too polite to make it clear.
Back to me and Opportunity. I had woken up a bit later than I should have which left me without time to read the help wanted ads over breakfast. That was my usual form of self-inflicted torture on work days. Spending thirty minutes looking at all the things no one would hire you to do while munching on a bagel that your mother had toasted for you before she left for her wonderful and fulfilling job that involved helping needy children (I kid you not — this was my life) makes the pain of inane small talk with strangers and plastering on a weary smile every time Percy walks past the counter and slaps it while saying “Customer Care is the name of the game” hurt so good. With my no longer warm bagel in one hand and the newspaper under my arm I yanked open the door only to find our front step full of…someone.
Whoever she was had decided to lay out on our front step. Lay out — like laying down on her back with one ankle draped over the other knee and her hands behind her head. I dropped both my paper and the bagel, cream cheese side down, of course, in my attempt to avoid tripping over her and only barely succeeded. She turned her head towards my feet, took in the scene giving the paper and bagel equal attention, and looked up at me. And then she winked at me and went back to gazing up. At what? At the overhang of the roof that shielded the porch.
***
This is a story-start — if you’d like to see where the story goes “clap” for it. My “winning” start (based on number of readers who clap for it) will be developed further and might grow into a full short story!
