I don’t wanna say any names…

I’m sitting in a Tim Hortons and can’t help but overhear a conversation between three autoworkers who are having a tough time with work. It sounds like they’re stuck in the middle of a union/management issue. “I can file a grievance right now and I’d have my job back…”. Three guys. Shift just ended. The leader of their table keeps saying “someone else is on the chopping block” but he won’t say who. When asked, he simply replies with “I don’t wanna say any names, but…”. The bald guy at work is one of the bosses and I’m gathering that he’s our antagonist. “Rick’s the one who messed up your dye!” “Which one is Rick?” “The bald one.” Every time I hear “the bald one”, I wish I was wearing a hat.

Humans like trouble. We like conflict. I see it in myself. I see it at Tim Horton’s. I’m no therapist, but I get the sense that they keep going around and around on the same idea, offering high-fives whenever there is a new level of kindred spirit reached. I’m surprised someone isn’t yelling “Amen!”.

“You keep giving me bad parts, you know, there’s gonna be trouble.” I guess Rick — the bald one — won’t listen to that. The bald one is evil. The bald one is out to destroy the working man who catches dinner here at Tim Horton’s.

Where’s my hat?

“Rick makes $2,500 a week on the scrap! He’s a multimillionaire!”

“WHAT!?! Which Rick is this? The owner? TWENTY FIVE HUNNRED?

Where’s my hat? Do they sell hats at Tim Horton’s?

“So, Rick is the main owner?” “Yeah. Rick. The bald Rick.”

Welp… it’s about time for me to hit the dusty trail. Maybe go buy a hat.

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