Chapter 2: On Sad Girls and Sushi (Not Everyone Can Be a Vtuber)

When I consider the continuously slopping downwards trajectory of my life, I don’t know where my parent’s fault ends and my personal responsibility begins. There’s probably fault on both sides here, I admit that, along with environmental factors beyond both of our controls but for the moment, I’m leaning towards my parents. And why wouldn’t I? Sure, my parents might not have had much of a choice when they had me because every child born is born though nature’s high-stakes gacha, but they at the very least still chose to pull that gacha and Roe v. Wade gave them an extra 24 weeks to change their mind. That’s a choice! But what about me? Since when did I ever ask to be born?

When the elevator doors opened, I found myself in the familiar corridors of the level B1 underground garage and from there, I slowly began making my way towards my designated parking spot of 187 B. I’m not sure when exactly this office building was built but based on the cracked concrete, the decaying rebar, and the exposed asbestos hanging over the ceiling, it was probably prior to the 1980’s. I don’t know, it’s just a guess. Truthfully, I don’t know anything about architecture – I’m just really hoping that I’m not older than this aged and decrepit building for very obvious psychological reasons.

Today was my 30th birthday and I had spent most of it working on a report that I know no one will read because it doesn’t really matter. And why? Because I was a workaholic? No! God, I wish that were because then I’d at least have an excuse but the sad truth is that I just didn’t have anyone to spend it with. I’ve never been particularly close to anyone in my family and over the years, all my friends and I have slowly drifted apart. As for my love life, well, that just never existed. I don’t want to use the term “Femcel” because… you know, who would? However, the term is accurate and I am the self-elected president of my local chapter. Am I a femcel because my standards too high? No, they’re in hell. The reason why I’m alone is because no one wants me.

Like the stars in the night sky, some people are just born to be alone.

As I continued wallowing in self-pity as Japanese Christmas cakes are prone to do, my feet eventually brought me to my parking spot of 187 B. Parking spot 187 B was probably the worst parking spot on this entire level as it was the only one which was oh so conveniently located in the tiny pocket between a load-bearing column and a concrete wall. I hated crab-walking every time I wanted to get in or out of my car but I didn’t have any other choice and so, without further adieu, I shimmied myself through the narrow gap and squeezed my way into my car.

It had been a long day and I felt both physically and mentally drained. By the time I managed to start my car, it was already almost 11 pm, which meant that everything I wanted to eat at was closed. Cool. That made sense. Originally, I had planned on eating or picking up some sushi on my way home but I waited too long and now it was too late to pick up anything decent. There’s a metaphor to be made here but I’m not going to make it. Oh well; grocery store sushi it is and I knew just the place.

Like most millennials, home ownership was vastly out of reach so instead, I helped pay for my landlord’s mortgage at Constellation Heights: a 24-story condominium located in the city of Vancouver, Washington. Established just north of Portland, Vancouver too straddled the Columbia River only it was in a different state, had 1/3 of the population, and had 50% less crime per capita. Yeah. If there’s one thing I miss from the pandemic era, it was working from home. God, I really miss working from home. Anyway, next to Constellation Heights was a 24-hour Walmart superstore and that’s where I was going to get my sushi.

For those that don’t know, Walmart is a big chain retailer in the United States and it serves most metropolitan areas with the exception of hellholes like Portland. Walmart was not a great store but it is a store and it was open so I went there to pick up what was undoubtedly going to be some godawful sushi. If the term “sushi” had been globally protected by appellation like wagyu or wasabi was but was actually respected unlike the terms wagyu or wasabi, even with the rice vinegar, that which Walmart calls “sushi” would definitely smell sweeter… or be called something else. International law can get pretty hotly contested, especially in regards to geographic food protections. That said, if William Shakespeare were still alive today, I would force him to eat what I was about to eat and see how well he handles the broadening of definitions because semantics is a bitch.

As I stepped through the automated doors of my local Walmart, I was greeted by no one because basically everyone except weirdos and losers had gone home. There were some merchandisers rearranging a Coca-Cola display near the front but that was their job so it doesn’t really count. It was however, important to note that those merchandisers were technically Coca-Cola employees and not Walmart employees because even if rank and file Coca-Cola employees were criminally underpaid, you shouldn’t mess with them because they still had some human rights. Walmart employees on the other hand are basically slaves.

The pre-made and ready-to-eat department where things like sushi and sandwiches could be found was located somewhere near the cashiering area but on the opposite side of the entrance so that you had to walk all the way across the store in order to pick up the food. Making my way over there was always a pain but it’s what I had to do if I wanted to eat. Sigh. My life is such a struggle. And why? Because grocery store owners are greedy and they want people to make impulse purchases along the way. You see, grocery store layouts aren’t optimized for the consumer; they’re optimized to extract value from the consumer. I know your tricks, Mr. CEO. I know why the milk and diapers are always located wayyy in the back and I know why my Fitbit was currently registering an elevated heart rate as I power-walked across the length of the store. I know all of this. And ordinarily, that would be enough to avoid getting ripped off by grocery store gimmicks but today was my 30th birthday and as a result, I was weak.

As expected of the ready-to-eat section at 11 pm, the refrigerated display selection was small, slovenly, and sad. That said, there was no short supply of grocery store sushi because you’d have to be on prescriptions, like me, to want to eat that. I hadn’t intended on buying anything other than grocery store sushi but right there, next to the sushi, was a black forest cake that was discounted by 30% on the label price. This cake was obviously in bad shape and deteriorating, a cake that nobody wanted, and a cake that would probably be thrown away if I didn’t buy it. This poor thing. The amount of sadness and sorrow I felt when I saw that cake was about the same as seeing Naruto sitting alone on a swing. I couldn’t help but feel an emotional connection with this soon-to-be-expired cake and so, I picked it up along with my sushi because between this cake and me, at least one of us should be wanted.

One thing that sucks about late-night shopping is that all the self-checkout aisles are closed and you’re forced to have face to face interactions with a Walmart employee. My Walmart employee for today was a middle-aged woman named Margie and I could tell that she and I were kindred spirits in the sense that we both hated our jobs and by extension, our lives.

“...Your total is 24.66. How will you be paying?” Margie asked with the enthusiasm of someone who was just done with life.

“Credit,” I replied while matching her energy.

Then, I tapped the pin-pad with with my wallet and that was it. I took my stuff and then walked away.

I don’t know why people keep acting like we don’t live in a dystopia when it’s pretty obvious that we do. Is it because it’s not cyberpunk enough? Is it a branding issue? I don’t know. Personally, I find modern life to be distressing and dehumanizing enough to pass the dystopian bar but you know what they say: ignorance is strength.

As I was headed back towards my car, I saw another Walmart employee tossing garbage and cardboard boxes into a dumpster and truthfully, I envied him.

I hate my job. I think I’ve been pretty vocal about that but just to be clear, I’ll just say it again: I hate my job. When I first started my career in politics, I had this naive notion that I was going to help make things better for people but here I am, almost a decade later, and things have steadily deteriorated. I may make more than this mystery man but he at the very least gets to look back at this pile of garbage at the end of the day and see the positive difference he made in people’s lives. Can I say the same?

Long ago, people used to believe that their fates were written in the stars. It might seem incredulous that giant balls of hydrogen gas somehow held the wisdom of the universe but back then, life was full of mystery. In almost every recorded culture, stories were woven into the constellations and journeys were guided by celestial navigation. My favorite star was always Polaris, or the North Star. Polaris is the brightest star in the night sky and formed the handle of the Big Dipper. Following Polaris is how Odysseus found his way home and how the passengers aboard the Underground Railroad found freedom. For those who are lost, Polaris is a guiding light.

Today was Tanabata and for the first time in what felt like years, I looked up at the night sky but even as I strained my eyes, all I could see was a purple haze and a handful of weakly twinkling lights. Where is Hikoboshi? Where is Orihime? Where is Polaris? I asked myself these questions but I do not know the answer.

This looks nothing like my memories.

When did the stars become so dim?