breakroom genius

Lunch starts tonight at twelve thirty. The big square clock ticks away the minutes as the canned spaghetti in the industrial stainless microwave heats up unevenly. Soda, water or juice, which to have for drink. Probably soda. The caffeine is needed for the rest of the night. Someone walks in you give them a quick glance and a nod. You know the nod, the hi I hate this shit hole job and don't want to talk for the whole thirty minutes we are in here.

You get your can of soda, and open it knowing its going to go everywhere and it does. You cuss and groan as you clean it up. The the microwave dings, signaling the finished spaghetti. You take it out and add salt and pepper, since its very bland. There are nine tables and thirty six chairs. Usually about three or four are taken. You can sit anywhere. There is a Hispanic soap opera on. You know the ones, the fine looking woman, all with big breasts. I don't get it, but its entertainment. To top it all of, no one in the break room even speaks the language.

You stare blankly at the TV. Thoughts are running through your head. What if you develop anti-bacteria that changes with whatever disease you have in your body. What would happen if two universes collided? Two universes that are the same, but at the exact point they collide, they are diverging to go into two different futures. Would that mean their would be two of everything and everyone, but doing two totally different things? Where I'd we really come from? Did God create the dinosaurs before he created(made evolve) us?

The canned spaghetti is eaten quickly, within eight minutes. You go outside to the smoking area. Now you can enjoy two cigarettes. There are three picnic tables under the awning. You sit on the table top of the last one. Its pretty much the same outside as inside. A few people out there, not much conversation. If there is any, its quiet. If you bring up something, you talk for a minute, then nothing. You sit and stare at the board on the wall painted with the outlines of brooms and a dustpan. Just the small broom and dustpan remain. As you get up the leave, its always the same, whelp, back to work I guess, just a few more hours.

Everyday its the same, you come in for twelve hours and just work. Its an easy job, idle mind time is what you have, since the work is mindless. What if you used it, thought of something and followed it? Next time your in the breakroom or outside smoking, don't regard those blank stares with empty thought. You could be sitting next to the person who creates time travel, cures cancer or reverses aging. The next time your wolfing down your canned spaghetti, you could be sitting in the presence of a genius.