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Shift Change

  It was the last day of my work shift. I was fully ready to leave this little town for a few weeks. Arvin and I had even loaded all our stuff into the car, so we could head out straight from the mall without going back to the apartment. All we needed was to wait for the guys who were supposed to replace us. They were supposed to call around noon to say they were in the last town on the way here, since there’s no signal further along the road. Around twenty minutes to twelve, the long-awaited call came. I was having lunch in the security room at the time, while Arvin was out in the mall. The work phone stopped ringing, and I realized Arvin had answered on the other phone he kept with him. Two minutes later, he came into our office and headed straight for me. I thought he was about to share some good news, but his face looked worried. He handed me the work phone and said our supervisor wanted to talk to me. I took the receiver, knowing this couldn’t be good. The boss told me there w...
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I Am a Disappointment

  I don’t even know where to start. Well, in that case, it’s best to begin at the beginning. As a kid, I wasn’t a terribly problematic child, but I caused some trouble. Like all kids back then, I loved playing until night. We’d mess around at the stadium, in the tree grove nearby, on some hills, or in a field. We often played games using just nature and our imagination since we didn’t have cell phones or computers. We simply enjoyed nature and interacting with it and each other. A small meadow seemed like a vast field, a little grove felt like a forest, an ordinary pond was a sea, and three-meter hills were mountains. The world seemed so big and incomprehensible, yet everything was so simple. We didn’t attach extra meaning to simple things, so we didn’t have to think about how to act in situations—we just lived by our feelings. When we were happy, we laughed; when we were sad, we cried; when we were scared, we hid or ran; when we were bored, we turned on our imagination. It was a w...
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Politeness

  My partner, Rick, was complaining about his sore knees—they’d been bothering him the entire previous shift. After we returned to Winnipeg, he went to the doctor, who put him on sick leave, which meant I’d get a new partner. And so it happened. My new partner was from India, named Arvin. He’d been working in security in Canada for nine years, but with a different company. When his company’s contract for that site ended, the staff was let go, and he had to find a new job. We first met at my company’s office to discuss our trip with the management. Arvin was a dark-skinned man in his middle years, of average build, about a meter seventy tall. There wasn’t anything particularly striking about him—I think in India, he’d blend right into a crowd. The only thing that stood out a bit was his very bulging eyes. In the office, he was very friendly. We exchanged contact info, discussed the trip details, and went our separate ways. When we finally started working together, I noticed he tried...
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The Diet

  At some point in my life, I decided to experiment with what I eat. I love eating—more accurately, I love gorging myself. Especially food I cook myself. I never follow recipes when I cook; I usually take some basic idea from them and then add whatever I think will go well together. But that’s only when I want to make a specific dish, which is rare. Usually, one main ingredient is enough for me to build from. For example, I have a chicken breast. First, I imagine its taste in different cooking methods—how it would taste boiled, fried, baked, or stewed. When I realize what I’m craving at that moment, say, baked chicken breast, I start thinking about what else I’d like to bake. I love potatoes in any form, and they go well with chicken, so the main side dish ingredient is settled quickly. But chicken breast isn’t very juicy, so it’d be nice to make a sauce. Mushrooms go well with potatoes, and chicken would taste better with them too, so I’d fry some mushrooms with onions and pour in...
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My Mom Is a Ghost

  A few days ago, I was trying to teach my mom how to send voice messages. It was tough—Mom didn’t want to figure it out. She’d press something, and if it didn’t work, that was it, no other options. After many attempts, she called Dad, and they managed to sort it out. The next day, she sent me a voice message: “Hi, everything’s fine here, how are you? Have you eaten? Are you at work right now?... Got it. So you’re working for another week and then heading back?... Yeah, got it. You can’t talk right now?... Okay, then another time. Dad was asking if you could talk on video, but I told him you can’t, so we’ll talk on video when you get home. Alright, bye.” When I listened to it, I couldn’t understand what was happening. It was a conversation with me, but without me. My mom was asking me things, answering for me, and believing it far more than she usually believes what I actually say. Yes, I’d eaten, yes, I was at work, but she didn’t know that for sure. As for going home, it was uncl...
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Where Is My Home?

  As usual, I was walking around the shopping mall. Two cleaners worked there, both from the Philippines. Passing by one of them, he smiled at me, I smiled back, and he said something. Not quite hearing him, I came closer. He asked if I was bored. I said not at all, and he was very surprised. Sure, from the outside, my job might seem boring, and maybe it even is, but since I’m often lost in my thoughts—usually about something good and interesting—I don’t get bored. We started talking about mundane things and our home countries. When we talked about food, I was surprised that they usually eat rice three times a day, while he was shocked that in Ukraine, people don’t typically eat the same dish every day for their whole lives. Overall, there weren’t that many differences, since the Philippines is also a poor country, maybe for similar corrupt reasons. He said he really missed home, where his wife and young daughter were waiting for him. His friends and entertainment, which just don’t...
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The Homeless Woman

  When I got laid off from the metal-plastic window factory, I went on unemployment benefits and could calmly wait for a new job. I liked this kind of vacation. I wasn’t worried about work at all; somehow, I just knew it would come. About two months into my break, in the middle of the night, I heard banging and some shouting. A woman’s voice was yelling, “Mark, open the door!!!” The banging was so loud that at first, I thought it was at my door. I checked the time—it was two in the morning. I got out of bed, got dressed, and went to the front door. When I opened it, about two meters to my right, I saw a woman. She was sloppily dressed in slightly dirty clothes, with tangled, greasy hair, and her face was covered in snot and drool. She was heavyset and pounding on my neighbor’s door with her big fists. When I stepped out, she gave me a quick glance and continued her tantrum. I asked her what was wrong and why she wouldn’t stop—half the floor was already awake, but my neighbor still ...
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