Even though I won’t technically be an adult until August 3rd, I’d like to start a new series on this blog devoted entirely to my post-high school life. I’ll answer questions such as “What am I doing with my life?” and “How do taxes work?” as soon as I figure both of those things out.
Let’s start with college. I pretty much despise it so far, but I’m hoping that will only last for the semester. I’m taking an online Intro to Literature class, which is painfully easy. So easy, in fact, that I am actually struggling with it. Also, I think that I burnt out my essay-writing index in high school. Maybe I can’t write essays while I’m on Lexapro? I might have to be miserable to churn out quality essays. I hate being the only one in class that likes Emily Dickinson.
Math class is going about as well as I expected, which is not very. My instructor looks like a twelve year old boy and I suck at factoring polynomials. I think I’m scraping by, though. At least I don’t have to write any essays.
I also reluctantly got a job as a hostess at Denny’s, so my days are now filled with pleasant-if-a-bit-creepy truck drivers and the impossibly grumpy elderly.
When I first got hired, I thought that truckers were going to be my main problem; that they were going to flirt and try and touch me and stuff, but I’ve actually never met a trucker (or, “professional driver”, as we’re supposed to call them) that was anything but nice. Or at least politely gruff. They all call me “ma’am”, which is weird, and sometimes tell me about an interesting place they’ve been, or something they’ve been thinking about. Yesterday I got into a one-sided conversation about pit bulls that I couldn’t get away from for at least ten minutes. But hey, I’m paid by the hour, so if the customer wants to talk…
Surprisingly, the most unpleasant people that come into Denny’s are the elderly. I mean, sure, maybe like 10% of them are sweet and understanding, but the vast majority of these babyboomers are just cruising through life on the back of an AARP card, not caring who they hit on the way. If I had a dollar for every time an old woman complained about “it’s cold” or “the table’s wet over here in this one spot wipe it up” or “i asked for my ridiculously complicated order five minutes ago where is it?” or “the sun’s in my eyes” or “I DON’T WANT TO SIT NEAR BLACK PEOPLE”, I could retire right now!
Despite all my whining, it’s actually not a bad job. Most of my coworkers are decent people, and sometimes I get tipped. (“Two whole dollars? Well gee whiz, sir, thank you!”)
Plus, the amount that I get to eat pancakes has gone up by at least 300%.