RANDAL : (suddenly outraged) Fuck you. Fuck you, pal. Listen to you trying to pass the buck again. I'm the source of all your misery. Who closed the store to play hockey? Who closed the store to attend a wake? Who tried to win back an ex- girlfriend without even discussing how he felt with his present one? You wanna blame somebody, blame yourself. (beat, as DANTE) "I'm not even supposed to be here today." (whips stuff at DANTE) You sound like an asshole. Whose choice was it to be here today? Nobody twisted your arm. You're here today of your own violation, my friend. But you'd like to believe that the weight of the world rests on your shoulders-that the store would crumble if Dante wasn't here. Well, I got news for you, jerk: This store would survive without you. Without me either. All you do is overcompensate for having what's basically a monkey's job: You push fucking buttons. Any moron can waltz in here and do our jobs, but you're obsessed with making it seem so much more fucking important, so much more epic than it really is. You work in a convenience store, Dante. And badly, I might add. And I work in a shitty video store. Badly, as well. (beat) You know, that guy Jay's got it right-he has no delusions about what he does. Us? We like to make ourselves seem so much better than the people that come in here, just looking to pick up a paper or-God forbid-cigarettes. We look down on them, as it we're so advanced. Well, if we're so fucking advanced, then what are we doing working here?
Possible actual spiritual reflection to follow, later today. I'm halfway through David Whyte's The Heart Aroused: Poetry and the Preservation of Soul in Corporate America, which is basically his book-length response to Can Poetry Matter? Of all the book-length responses to that essay I've read, it may be my favorite, though.