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Great question. If I only had one video I could play it would be this.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

Issue : people : Toil



Diaries of a Spaceport Janitor is a game about frequency.

A whole number ago I worked graveyard shift at a gas station. It was in the middle of nowhere so not many cars came round. Gave me a lot of time to read and catch up on Nintendo DS titles. It was chill.

From time to time a paralyzing tsunami of depression would crest and torture me with questions like, "How disappointed do you think your parents are in how you squandered your potential?" or, "Do you think you will die a gas station cashier or assistant manager at Arby's? Is that dream too big?" Some nights even my thoughts abandoned me and I spent the entire shift staring out the window waiting on the sun.  

I mean, the job had it's cons, I'm not saying it didn't. But check it, you probably aren't gonna believe me but I could just like, go make a hot dog whenever I wanted. Ohh I feels like a red/blue Slurpee with a Slim Jim chaser? It's nothing I just go get that! Feelin' like Prince Akeem in that birtch.

I knew I was being watched, most nights the camera was my only visitor. I never much minded, it's been the story of my life. In America all are innocent until proven guilty, so guilt is simply a matter of surveillance over time.

The owner of the station told me from time to time she would watch me at home on the closed circuit channel. Said at first it was to make sure I was safe, then she said she would find herself watching me restock the shelves, or having a conversation with a customer, or staring at the potato chip rack for thirty minutes and realized she was no longer searching for wrongdoing.

She was just watching me, the studio audience of a bespoke, melon collie TV show. She told me she didn't mind that I was taking hot dogs, but to chill out on the Sour Patch kids, I was up to like five packs a day, terrible for your teeth.

I think I quit that job because I heard Kinko's was hiring for twelve an hour. I was like, "TWELVE DOLLARS AN HOUR!?! Dude, I can raise a family! Nigga I made it!!!" Turns out twelve dollars an hour isn't really that much money. Such is life.

I hope information gets in the holiday spirit but doesn't forget the deliverables for this sprint (y'all get seven days of presents? Comin' up!). Thanks for the condolences for Boo, it means a lot to me that you sent them. And for fucks sake no I'm not gonna sherpa everybody that comes through SD. I only have so many leave the house days between panic attacks and I'm not using them on that. Also Jobs.

The Protoculture Mixtape : Issue : Games : Drudgery 

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