I was very confused. I had been for the better part of the summer. After I turned eighteen, my parents told me that I was an adult and that I could handle getting my student loans all by myself. Those were two terrible months, before they finally realized I had no idea what I was doing, and decided to help me. My father was not pleased that he had to cosign my loan. Shock of all shocks that a part time minimum wage worker couldn't secure a loan by themselves
Either way we finally got it done, five days before my payment was due. So, definitely great timing. However, online it is showing that I still owe about $2,000. I got a lot of graduation gifts, but not that much. After I got my loan, I was supposed to owe, maybe $690. So, I wasn't prepared for this.
In maybe ten minutes we are done. One of my federal scholarships just hadn't gone through, because of a little paperwork. I fixed that. I go over to the business office to actually pay for it and they ask for my ID.
I don't have it. I drove all this way and I didn't bring my license. So, I try starting the car. I'd been bumping and grinding to Calvin Harris the whole way there. And, it won't start.
My father jump started my car the second time and he thought it was fine. What my father doesn't know is that I run the battery down all the time, and that I just don't tell him. We have lthis portable jump starter that you plug into a wall and you just walk away for a half hour and let it charge the battery. That way he never has to know.
Earlier I told you that I have a flip phone. I don't carry this flip phone. I don't know its number. I use a home phone. Yes. That's right a home phone. Which we recently got caller ID on, so that's exciting. We are now keeping up with the Smith's from the 90's. First, I call the home phone. My mother does not pick up. She doesn't know how to check for caller ID, so I know she's not avoiding me. I then call my father's cellphone, and he doesn't pick up. RUDE. This is your child calling you in dire distress.
I then call my next door neighbor and tell her what happened. She tells me to stand by the phone, and once she's reached them, they will call me. I stand at the ready and after five minutes, my father calls me, and asks me where I am.
I tell him where I'm parked and I wait. I did however make considerable progress in The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears by Dinaw Mengestu. I've had to read for school for four weeks now and I've been putting it off by reading Jackie Collins instead. I was two pages from finishing when my father pulls up.
I'm told to put the car in neutral, and back out, so my father can jumpstart it. Let me tell you. Without power steering, driving a car is a mother. It was the worst possible thirty seconds of my life. But, this very nice boy helped my father push it into the right spot. I wanted to anoint him “bae”.
We jumpstart the car, determine what I already knew, that I needed a new battery. Padre drives me to work. Something, I most certainly could get used to, and I walk in with The Beautiful Things That Heaven Bears and the latest Architectural Digest in hand. I set them on the break table in the back.
Normally, I would have kept them in the car, because that's where I go on break, but I didn't have the car. So, it's 10:30. I am about to leave. We are just doing some cleaning up, making sure everything was organized. It had been a rough Wednesday night.
So, in walks my General Manger and I thought he was about to go off because of how dirty it is, but he doesn't. He walks to the back and does inventory. Or whatever it is he does back there. I think to myself, he must be in a pretty good mood.
It's a few minutes after this that I hear him scream, “What is all this shit?” and him swiping everything off the break table off onto the floor. He might have flipped the table, I don't know, I only heard it.
Because, yes he threw my books onto the ground. We have tile in the back and they were mopping it. He never did pick them up for me. One of my co workers did and there's this layer of grime on both of them.
How dare you call a magazine and all it's writers “shit”. Margaret Russell as a respected Editor of a premiere American magazine, does not deserve that and neither do any of her writers. Who are you to treat their hard work like that sir.
He never did apologize to me or any of the staff for what he did. But, even if he had, I wouldn't have accepted it. That act of aggression was uncalled for. To apologize to me, he would have had to have written to Dinaw Mengestu and Margaret Russell and apologized to them
When he finally did come up to the front and said some very cryptic words. “You have 5 minutes. GO.”
You expect me to finish all my duties in five minutes. Rush them, so you can lower your labor costs. Sir, I don't have that kind of respect for you. I grabbed my books and I clocked out.
And, after all of this I had to go back to my school on Thursday to deal with my payment. That woman behind the counter judged me so hard.