Self-Help by Lorrie Moore
8 min @ the desk, Toronto
4:44 Make a wish. Wish for a bigger apartment. Something with a wall between the bed and the table. You know the wishes don’t work. Except that one time. But it was 11:11. In the morning. Mornings are hard working the night-shift. Can’t screw this one up. The tips are pretty good. You convince yourself the truckers feel sorry for never looking in your eyes when they order. You wish you liked the sweet one with the club foot. Is it really a club foot? You’ve never seen a club foot in your life, you think it means one leg shorter than the other. Is it a club because it’s got no toes? That wouldn’t make the whole leg shorter than the other. You certainly can’t ask him. You can’t afford talking to him in case you don’t remember the elaborate lie you told to get out of a date. Such a sweet guy, easy to talk to, but you know talking isn’t what he’s got in mind longterm. If you could just get another skill besides pouring coffee. You’re a good listener. Clubfoot always thanks you for listening. If only you could get a job getting paid to listen. In the daytime.
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