I suffer from self-imposed ennui. Most people would accept a full life as indication of a life well lead but I sit listless wanting something that I don’t have the power to obtain - contentment. Tuesday I was getting a tank of $3.89 regular gas and the person behind the counter seemed content. She had decorated her booth with family photos and one of those small plastic fans labeled “Mabel.” My assumption was that Mabel had been at this location a very long time because as I was leaving she gave a hearty “Hey Baby” to a young guy bouncing in with hip hop grace. A polite thank you and I returned to my truck. Sitting there with the key in the ignition, I was overwhelmed with irritation for Mabel. Her high and mighty labeled fan and her convenient store memorabilia seemed oddly permanent for a convenience store clerk. I asked myself why I was so irritated with Mabel. She was nice, polite, efficient and important somehow. She provided a ray of sunshine in a drab location. I should be happy that Mabel works at the BP MiniMart. The problem was, I wasn’t happy for Mabel’s existence. With all honesty, I started feeling disgust. She had a achieved something that all of my education, training and reading had failed to produce - contentment. Not to be too condescending, but I assumed Mabel was not college educated. That might be a horrible assumption but for argument sake lets assume that she worked there in high school then graduated and had worked at “her” store ever since. She might have worked at that mini-mart location for 30 years without a watch or token acknowledgment. She probably survived more uniform changes and corporate “buyouts” to the point she catches herself telling a teenager getting money out of the ATM machine on a slow Friday night, ”hey baby, I remember when BP replaced the Citgo people’s slushy machine with that ATM bank be careful about those fees.” Mabel is the convenient store historian,  a glassed in chronicler of the military industrial demise of a once mighty and profitable convenience story economy. After my irritation subsides, I recognize something else that I envy about Mabel, her noblility and simplicity. These qualities are stark contrasts to my legal wrangling on the daily sinking ship called the American  legal system. Before I leave the gas pump, I take a quick look around and notice a sea of contentment. A mother and child, a group of city workers parked next to two male and two female teenagers with black sunglasses looking very content. My reaction is the same.  That is a selfish and immature reaction isn’t it? If I was a good person my first reaction might be calm envy but irritation reflects a character flaw. But the verdict is in, if good people are content then I am not a good person. A burning desire sets aflame that assures me that I am not going to ever get a fan and label it. I declare that I can’t become content with anything in my life or the future that I perceive in front of me so I better not get too comfortable with my surroundings. I am pulling out of the parking lot determined to never come back to that BP MiniMart forever avoiding Mabel’s haunting contentment. I hit the gas pedal trying to push the ennui through the floor and out of my life.  

AH