“What do you mean you don’t have a size 12?”
    “Sir, I’m sorry, but we only have skate sizes up to 9,” said the man defensively behind the counter as if I were attacking his very core beliefs.  His eyes shifted from me to the ever growing line that was increasing because of my stubborn presence.  “I can offer you a size 9,” he said as if this were new information.  I stared at him for a moment; I saw nervousness that grew in his eyes.  Not nervousness from me, not even necessarily from the growing line of aggravated customers, but a nervousness that seemed somewhat selfish.  He sought to assist me for the sake of his paycheck and for the honor he’d receive from his boss.  His customer service skills—what little there were—were purely conceived from selfish intentions.  He didn’t care for my satisfaction, though, in part he did care for the satisfaction of the customer—as it is called as a whole.  Not the individual, but the population.  My theory only proved truer as he brought a pair of size 9 skates to the counter.  I smiled at him, as an unhappy guest would smile at the host of a horrid party.  I thanked him, but declined, then walked away towards the oval rink. 
    I stood to the side, and rested my arms on the walls of the rink watching the lights dance and listening to the music thunder.  Had not there been a majority of skaters rolling around the building I would have assumed this to be a shabby night club… but what do I know of night clubs?  Familiar faces passed me by, though the rest of them seemed completely alien to me.  The added height from the skates they wore made them somewhat of a new person to me; a stranger with the face of a friend, smiling, laughing, shaking my hand.  It had somewhat of a fakeness to it, for with their new stature they became people that I didn’t know, people that seemed to enjoy and jest with me as my friends did.  But these people weren’t my friends, these were strangers, marauders who attacked and pillaged jokes and stories I held sacred with my friends; they claimed them as their own.  I felt small, insignificant among the tall strangers.  I stood tight against the rink wall because walking proved to be dangerous.  The strangers seemed attracted in direction towards all that weren’t wearing such divine skates as their brown warped leathers.  Their faces stretched a forced smile.  Fear ticketed across their eyes like a Morse-Code message wondering why they are doing what they’re doing.  They find false hope in viewing others in the rink; they make it seem so easy that any fear is replaced by a sense of coercing pride.  Their minds tell them, “You’ve put the skates on; you’re too far in… just go.”  I watched them enter the rink and become a new person.  The tall strangers I met tumbling around became iconic skaters upon entering the oval arena.  Though after the first strut was placed, they fell to form a fleshy speed bump for the others riding around the rink.
    Now, there are two types of people who enter the rink, both of them begin with somewhat of an air of confidence; now, whether that confidence is found true or not is shown forth upon their entrance to the rink.  There are the people who go in and are graceful, maintaining speed and elegance, then there are those who drift motionless around the rink finding their sanctuary along the stone wall.  The first type, to me, seems more shameful.  These are people who are very skilled, are very trained at skating, yet instead of using that skill towards something in the productive sort—which, to the best of my knowledge, there’s no such thing with skating—they use it simply to turn in one direction for an extended period of time.  There speed prevents them from engaging in companionship.  Even if they wish to slow themselves down they still find no desire to stay that way for long.  Their ever desirous goal of moving ahead of everyone makes them seem oh so frivolous.  In a never ending circular motion they seek to get ahead of others, yet when they pass them what is there to find but the opponent mysteriously ahead of them again!  They pass, and pass, and yet don’t seem to make any progress.  Their skill, their training, has it all been for not?  I looked at the faces of those struggling to get by—the second type of people—and they were always bearing a smile, conversing with those who wished to assist them as well as those who were likewise struggling.  These people were having fun, yet those who were well skilled I saw a different type of joy.  Not one that lasted, the joy of the moment was ever present in their eyes.  The sad part is, is how quickly moments pass.
    A thought entered my mind as I watched these “elitist skaters”, as I called them, go around the track, and that is relating to life and pursuits.  This “Skating Rink Lifestyle” occurs in all of our lives.  We all have something we want, or we seek, and like the skating rink, we all start at the same point of beginning.  We make a full circle, and much happens, yet we return back to where we started.  The only thing that’s changed is the experience we gained in order to return to this place.  In our minds we think, “Now that we have this experience surely we’ll reach our marker!”  Yet nothing changes except the time it takes to get you back to where you begun.  So aimlessly you circle about, going in but one direction seeking, but never gaining, reaching but always empty-handed.  This aimless, fruitless pursuit of vanity in our lives is what I term as “Skating Rink Lifestyle.”
    The lights dimmed and the music changed from a pumping pulsating melody fighting against the very walls that were hardening down on the shape shifting beast, to a soft light-romantic tune.  A voice came on the overhead speakers, and it said in a sultry tone, “All right, we’re going to now have couples skating.  So all of you soul mates get out there and skate.”  I had much to dissect about his prompt on the PA system, but I was too busy fighting myself free from the incessant rush of teenage girls and their strange-haired boyfriends as they flew to the rink in a sense to prove their romanticism to all; a public statement, a proud showcasing.  Their plight is much the same of the average skater, yet the only difference being that there’s someone alongside them in their pursuits.  I can understand and appreciate this when found in company, to go about in such a way brings forth the second type of skater which I appreciate.  But if their motive is to be part of this fad, this new age fascination with “being with someone” then I find them to be far worse than that of the first type.  Then the lights turned to a soft red making all of the skaters look as if they were stripped of their skin with nothing left but muscle tissue.  Symbolic, in a way, to show that most of the “love” on the rink was merely skin deep.  To show how common love these days is found together by the inseparable bond called Physical Attraction.
    After the red lights were quickly replaced by the house lights, all the skaters looked up as if not just their time skating had ended, but their romantic relationships as well.  The speakers again spoke the next event into play, the skate race.  This interested me far more than any of the other skating events.  I watched with anticipation, and even hope in betting on some to win this small race.  Those of the first type lined up, hoping and fully expecting their skills to push them flawlessly to the finish line; which, ironically, looked just like the starting line.  As these men raced for the goal, they all sought to win, but they all seemed to have different prizes in mind.  Some wanted the reward actually offered by the referee in charge, but to the others that wasn’t enough.  No, they had a full display of eager viewers at their disposal.  An opportunity for greatness has been so foolishly given to these titans of roller-skating.  These masculine heroes swiftly move stiffly across the cement floor.  The mind of the skater is not hard to comprehend.  They seem to where every emotion upon their face, but so freely, it seems that they purposefully intend for all to see them in their most vulnerable state.  Weak, they roll again and again, passing the line lap after lap.  But the people they’ve passed have found their way to seemingly be ahead.  Confusion ensues, the men trudge even harder seeking to pass those others ahead of them.  A strange wonder comes over them.  They remember the race beginning with but five men, now there’s hundreds!  Finally, after the convulsive legs of the leader pass the finish line for the final time the crowd cheers, rewarding his name with their acclamations and penny-worth praises.  So full of might at the rising defeat of his opponents the winner skates past the referee as if to show he is over the law, and he shows no care for anything but the sweet taste of victory now dripping from his brow down to his lips.  But in his attempts to glorify himself by passing the referee—who ironically was trying to give him the very reward that the man entered for in the first place—the once mighty cheers and rejoicing coming from his audience quickly turned to sardonic laughter and mocking persecution.  His fans of his fame soon turned to fans of his foolishness.   His pursuits were in vain.
    This I observed, and this I witnessed.  These men and women, children alike, have all gone miles this night, but have proven nothing.  Their vanity has brought about many thoughts and realizations to my mind.  The foremost revelation pierces my chest like a fiery arrow.  I stood there in full realization of the greatest fool that night.  For it is one thing to skate about for hours in the same direction going nowhere, and it’s a whole other case when one stands there for hours watching them…