The man who rented me a car at Enterprise
looked exactly like the man at Marriott who checked me in.
Both large men. Wide and fleshy. Former fullbacks I imagine.
With slate grey wedding rings desperately clinging to their sausage fingers.
And the same look of pinched exhaustion that must come from being constantly pleasant, apologetic and accommodating.
Voices pitched to a soft deferential tone, almost mewling, incongruous to their hulking frames.
Odd these ogre men have chosen lives akin to servitude, shackled behind desks, forced to kowtow and suffer the griping bleats of the eternally righteous consumer.
In their eyes and sagging builds you can almost watch the erosion of their spirit.
The US must be full of these displaced men. Once farmers, miners, assembly workers, now all in dire service to the Customer.
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