The Sunflower and The Cashier

                  I decide it’s been long enough that I’ve been crammed up in the bedroom, staring at my computer, so I change out of my pyjamas into my jean dress and black sweater. “I should probably make sure other people exist too and that I’m not floating on planet Pluto”, I think to myself. I often find, that the longer I spend on my own, not seeing or talking to another human being, either on the phone or in person, I get lost in my thoughts. I have learned this can be dangerous territory for me, so I try to stay connected to others as much as possible.

                  I lock the door behind me and am greeted by one of the other ladies on the floor. She is an older lady, with white hair, wearing a shirt with pink flowers on it. I compliment her shirt. She remembers my name, and I am grateful to feel like others know I exist. It’s easy for me to feel invisible at work, when most of the time, people just want to get home and unpack their grocery order, which averages about $200 per order. She asks me how my partner’s dad is doing, and I give her a quick update. It seems like people in this building genuinely care about each other.

                  It is a building situated just off the highway, towards a dead end. The others living in the houses nearby don’t seem as friendly and seem to be absorbed in their better than thou attitude. Or maybe, that’s just how I interpret it because there’s a pang of jealousy, wondering if I’ll ever be able to afford a home. There’s a little path nearby where we walk the dog together.

                  I am thankful for the people I get to know on the floor.  They make me feel welcomed, and as though I am part of a community. It’s funny, I don’t seem to have that same sense of connection with the others who live on the other floors. It seems to be a bit cliquey. I am reminded of university, where I was also on the third floor. Each floor was it’s own sense of support and we rarely got to know others on the other floors. Although in university, I was busy getting up to no good, so maybe that’s why the lack of connection.  

                  I also lived on the third floor back when I was renting with three other students. The thought of this number starts to feel weird. It isn’t until I get writing sometimes, that I am able to breakdown these thoughts and share them with others without it sounding like mumbo jumbo.

                  On any given day, I likely serve at least one person who lives in this building while I am at work. They are usually very friendly with me, greeting me with a warm smile every time I see them. Yesterday, one of the residents had come in with her daughter. Her daughter joked that it seemed like a retirement residence. It often does, but it makes me feel comforted to be surrounded by people who are at that stage in their life.