Window of opportunity

Fingerprints on a window grate on my nerves like an endangered panda who won't screw to save its species.

Everyday I stand there and stare at the double doors. For hours. Everything else is a blur; no customers, no food, no waiters, just the window. All I remember is how many times I cleaned them, and what damned son of a bitch smeared them with their slimy, greasy fingerprints.

I am a window nazi.

Once I see the slightest trace of a smudge, a streak of grease, I immediately jump into action like a man who realizes prostitution is legal in Vegas. I walk up the ramp toward the doors with a fierce determination in my eyes, the spray bottle clasped in my right hand, a towel in my left. And I go to town. The feel of the trigger, the swiping motion of the towel, the excess spray of windex hitting my face, the residue left on my hands..........Screw you, try standing in one spot for 5 hours at a time, and see the shit you start taking enjoyment in.

And then some one comes along and fucks it up. When I see some one push those doors open with their grimy paws, it's hard for me not to wish them harm (of not a slow and very painful death).