The time to leave Monkey Island has finally come. Well... kind of. I'm leaving next week, staying just long enough to finish my last two-week pay period at the restaurant. My mom is getting kicked out of her apartment. The idiot landlord who owns the two humble duplexes where my mom lives also owns a restaurant right by the duplexes, which he recently had to shut down due to lack of business. He and his wife are selling their house and moving into the duplexes. I guess they decided to kick Mom out because she hasn't been living there as long as the woman next door. Shitty? Yes. Completely legal? Also yes. By telling her thirty days in advance, he gave her the latest warning the law would allow. The point is, I'm going to egg his house before I leave.
I've noticed that the people on Monkey Island can be classified into three groups.
Group One is the vacationers. The drunken sunburnt college kids, old couples who dress like sailors, and upper middle-class suburbia families of three to five who are all seasonal guests of the island and who come here for one purpose and one purpose only--the lake.
Group Two is the wealthy property owners. These select few own all the land, restaurants, gas stations, marinas, horse farms, and vineyards on the island and live here year-round. They're generally older married couples who have lived here for centuries and accrued enough real estate to do whatever the hell want with.
Group Three is the laborers who work for the wealthy property owners. The people who actually work in and on the land, restaurants, gas stations, marinas, horse farms, and vineyards of Monkey Island. They too live here year-round, but unlike their upper class friends/employers, they make ends meet by scrubbing pots and pans in kitchens, waiting tables for $2.25 an hour, transporting drywall, hammering fences, and altogether doing anything the richer folk don't want to do themselves.
For the past couple of months, I have been in Group Three.
Don't get me wrong, I don't mind it one bit. It's people like my mom I think about... Single people without a lot of education but a strong work ethic living paycheck to paycheck. It's just odd to see the richer people hiring their poorer friends to do their dirty work. I guess it all works out in the flow of the Monkey Island ecosystem. Whatever.
Today I had an epiphany at work. For someone who complains all the time about not having any consistency in his life, I realized that I am one of the most consistent people I know. It all has to do with my OCD. I was noticing the way I washed the dishes, and I realized that I had developed a specific system for washing them since the day I first started. That way, everything runs smoothly and I get the job done the most efficient way I know how. And I never deviate from that system. I consistently wash those dishes the exact same way each and every time. I gather the forks the same way, hang the glasses the same way, and do everything in a very particular and predictable fashion. I do the same thing in other areas of my life, too, I guess. Some times I complain about being a creature of habit, actually. How strange and slightly ironic.
I don't have a problem saying goodbye to this place. After thinking about what brought me here, I've decided that I came here for a vacation. A kitten named Gandhi, an anthology of Frank Sinatra hits, and one moderately attractive news anchorman later, I've barefootedly rediscovered a few simple truths and the applications thereof, which is all I can really hope to take from any place I live.
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