Shinju
As I was working at the kiosk, talking on the phone with the store manager, a most peculiar thing happened. Two bags perched on the top shelf of the kiosk suddenly leapt right off the kiosk together. This wasn't one tipping into the other like dominoes. If I didn't know any better, I could swear that both bags jumped together of their own volition.
It's not like they were the same type of bags either. Pardon the technical this-guy-knows-way-too-much-about-it jargon, but one was a green Roots-brand schoolbag with a single over-the-shoulder strap. The other was a red Point Zero-brand postman bag. They seemingly shared nothing in common.
So why would they both attempt to leap to their deaths (or escape) from atop the kiosk counter?
One could go for the old Shakespearean Romeo & Juliet angle, and that the two bags had fallen in love despite the rival name brands they wore. Forced to admit that their vastly opposing corporate logo-families would never approve, the two bags decided to commit
shinju: a lover's double-suicide.
Like a pair of ill-fated young lovers leaping from a cliff into a low tide and a cove filled with scads of painfully sharp rocks, the Roots one-shoulder and the Point Zero postman felt that it would be better to acknowledge their life of live by tragically ending it.
Not that it really amounted to much in the end, since I just tossed them back onto the kiosk counter. And there's also the fact that they're inanimate objects too.
Today's Lesson: when you are asking for a glimmer of hope or a sign of confidence from someone, don't overlook what they're already presenting before you.
posted by Phillip at 8:51 PM
