The Kiosk at the End of the Hall
If you want to know what it feels like to be lonely, try working at a kiosk in the middle of a busy mall. I spent a whole winter there, selling phone cases out of a little glass box shaped like a cube. It sat right in the middle of the main hallway, between a pretzel stand and a store that sold candles. I could see almost the whole mall from where I stood. Bright lights, shiny floors, and a river of people walking by every single day, most of them never even looking at me. The kiosk itself was small. I had a glass counter with rows of phone cases lined up like little soldiers. Pink ones, glitter ones, plain black ones, cases shaped like animals. Behind me was a small TV screen that played a video on a loop, showing off the cases from every angle. The video had this bouncy little jingle that played over and over. I watched that video so many times that I started hearing the music in my head even when the screen was off. I used to joke with myself that I would lose my mind if I heard that song one more time. Some nights I would go home and the tune would still be stuck in my ears while I tried to fall asleep. My whole day was spent watching people walk by without stopping. I learned how to look at someone just long enough to see if they wanted to buy something, but not so long that I looked desperate or creepy. Most people did not even glance my way. They walked past like I was just another part of the wall, like one of the pillars or the potted plants. At first that bothered me a lot. After a while, I almost expected it. To keep myself from going crazy with boredom, I started making up stories about the people who walked by. There was a woman who always wore a blue coat and walked really fast, like she was late for something important. I decided she was a lawyer, always rushing to court, always checking her phone. There was a group of teenagers who came through almost every day around noon, laughing loud and eating fries from the food court. I was pretty sure they were skipping school. One time a guy walked by holding a giant teddy bear almost as big as he was. He looked nervous, like he was rehearsing something in his head. I told myself he was trying to win over a girl he liked, maybe after a fight or before a big date. I never found out if any of my stories were true. I just needed something to fill the long hours. The worst part of the job was the boredom, plain and simple. Some days felt like they lasted forever. I would check the clock, think an hour had passed, and find out it had only been fifteen minutes. I would straighten the same cases over and over, wipe down the counter that was already clean, and watch that video play one more time even though I already knew every single frame of it by heart. So when someone actually stopped at my kiosk, it felt like a big deal. My heart would jump a little, almost like something exciting was finally happening. I would start talking before they even looked up, saying something like, "Hey, are you looking for a case for your phone? We've got some great deals today." Sometimes my voice came out too loud, almost too excited, because I hadn't spoken to another person in hours. It felt like a small relief just to use my voice again, even if it was only to talk about phone cases. I started to notice patterns in the people who walked through that hallway. People are more predictable than you would think. They walk in groups almost all the time. They stop at the pretzel stand or the smoothie place before they stop anywhere else. They want to be entertained or distracted, even for just a few minutes. I saw a lot of the same faces every single day, like characters in a show that only played in that one hallway. There was a security guard who walked by on his rounds a few times a shift. He always gave me a little wink and a nod, like we were in on some kind of joke together, even though we barely ever talked. There was also a woman who walked a small white dog on a leash. She came by almost every afternoon and always stopped to look at my glitter cases, picking them up, turning them over in her hands, asking how much they cost. But she never bought one. Not once the whole winter. I used to wonder if she just liked looking at them, or if she was lonely too and wanted someone to talk to for a minute. By the time my shift ended, I was tired in a strange way. Not tired from doing hard physical work, but tired from standing there all day, half talking to myself, half watching the world go by without me in it. I would go home and sit in total silence for a while, just to recover from all the noise and lights of the mall. It was strange how being surrounded by so many people all day could still feel so lonely. I was right there in the middle of everything, but somehow completely separate from it, like I was watching a movie instead of living in the same world as everyone else. When I finally quit that job, I felt sadder than I expected. You would think I would just be relieved to never hear that jingle again, but it wasn't that simple. In some strange way, I had become part of that hallway. I had become part of the daily routine for people who walked that same path every single day, even if they never said a word to me. The security guard with his wink. The lady with the dog who never bought anything. The teenagers laughing on their way to skip class. I had watched little pieces of their lives go by for months, and I realized they had become a part of mine too, even if they never knew my name. Sometimes I still go back to that mall, usually just to walk around or grab something to eat. I always find myself walking past that same spot where my kiosk used to be. There is always someone else standing there now, in that same glass box, selling something different, waiting the same way I used to wait, hoping someone will stop and say hello. I always slow down a little when I walk by. Part of me wants to stop and talk to them, just to let them know I understand what it feels like to stand there all day, surrounded by people, but still feeling completely alone.