Tunnel Vision

The sun slowly completes its rise illuminating the restaurant. In one increment, the striking mechanism hits 12. The clock starts to spin out of control. Customers at the drive thru start honking their horns. Cars twist around the restaurant as if to constrict it. I clock in.

Two people call in sick, leaving me alone to cover the drive thru window. To top it off the manager is incompetent, tripping over her own shoelaces as she spills coffee beans all over the floor. I swallow my pride as I am being verbally assaulted by aggravated customers, as I daydream about my daughter’s laughter. I’m working for minimum wage, but today is that day in the month, again, to prove to myself that I am a man of my words.

The restaurant is getting bum rushed with orders. My ability to distribute food accurately becomes questionable. I go from a relaxed state to being bogged down by intense stress. My heart rate increases, my head aches, I am getting dizzy, triggering the phenomenon that is about to materialize.

The computer goes haywire and shuts down. All of a sudden, my world goes into slow motion. I enter tunnel vision, a hollow sound echoes in my ears, as voices slur, and vision blurs, I try to scream for assistance, but my shortness of breath only delivers a murmur like my baby girl.

It is now fight or flight. Fighting means I can pay child support and buy a new baby stroller. But I have an alibi to relieve myself of my duties and go home early. I choose to flee, but my legs are frozen in to the tiles.

Looking left to right causes trails that follow the objects and people. My customer’s mouth is sluggishly constricting in and out like a fish. I can only hear drowning noises coming from his vocal chords. Intense rays of light hit my eyes like the first thing my baby girl saw upon birth. I squint to try to focus. The event gradually subsides. I zoom in to the end of the circular tunnel, eyes refocus, and my manager says: “Are you alright?” I snap out of it for a second wind, syncing myself back to reality and nodding my head in reply. My legs are no longer frozen. I choose to stand my ground.

The computer is back online. My world returns in a flash. I am given my last orders for the day. Customers zoom in and out of the doors, with predictable routes, leaving streaks of shoe prints behind for me to mop. Later I proudly complete my final task, observing the shiny floors as the water condenses into the tiles. I clock out, grateful to have completed my duty today.

In relief that my shift is over, I jump into my car, and head home. I step on the pedal and cruise at the speed limit. At the sign, I responsibly make a complete stop and look both ways, before accelerating again. I smile, as the restaurant smoothly shrinks into the horizon in my rear view mirror.