The Joel Train

I'm here, reporting live from the shopping center where, in just moments, they will flip the Closed sign and the Weight Watchers store will be open for business.  Sitting with me here, in their respective vehicles are other point warriors like myself waiting to be weighed and judged.  I wonder if this is like taking communion?

I noticed that they don't mention your weight when you step on the scale.  Just whether you are up or down.  I'm sure there is training involved to be an effective scale matron.  I'm always struck by well trained staff.  Everything I do feels like I'm making it up on the spot, so when the guy at pink berry hands me my yogurt with his fingers tucked in to the underside of the paper cup, it's kind of great.  At first anyway.  At Chickfila they are tightly scripted.  They say "my pleasure" and "no gays".  At first I  marveled at the uniform customer experience.  At chickfila you get what you get, but in a good way.  But after a parade of 16 year olds hand you your fries with the same vacant robot gesture, or worse, you see the same guy day after day who surely recognizes you by now but regards you with the same icy distance, hiding behind the polite patter, it makes you feel just as much a cog in a wheel as they are.  

The open sign has flipped.  I'm off to go strike up an awkward conversation which I will replay in my head for a while and regret.  So which is worse, a limited, structured interaction that is devoid of any meaningful connection, or the crap shoot of words and phrase I will now throw together hoping something lands that keeps me from looking like a weirdo?

Phone post in the books!