Since graduating, my life has been changing at a rather alarming rate. Some good things, some bad things.
After FINALLY graduating, I relentlessly applied to any job I was even mildly qualified for. I probably spend 20-30 hours writing cover letters and revamping my resume, which paid off when I was offered a job as an Editor. (!!!) I don’t think I’ve had a weekend off for about 5 years, so this whole “real, adult job thing” is going to be surprising and probably a bit overwhelming. This is partly due to the fact that I have always held high-stress, low-intelligence jobs where my primary duty was to suck up to people as much as possible so I could force them to give me perhaps $1 more as a tip. So, yeah, pretty important.
On a side note: I don’t think tips should be counted as part of the wage. I certainly never think of tips as such, and I find it offensive that the government taxes me on something that I only buy beer with. I mean, that stuff is already taxed like crazy. But I digress.
One thing I noticed from working at service jobs is that most everyone is incessantly bitter and incestuous. What I mean by this is that no one outside food/booze service jobs can possible understand how awful that sort of job really is, and they can only confide in other restaurant workers about how much other people suck. Not to mention the alcohol and hangovers, which are both the best and worst part of working in a restaurant. There is nothing like going to get “one” drink at the bar and then all of a sudden the bar is closing while you realize you need to look presentable in the morning. And since servers are unbelievably good at getting other people to drink more (think: bill vs tip), it can be extremely difficult to turn down a drink offer from a fellow server.
After getting a job, I decided I no longer had to be responsible with money and thus could go to Las Vegas for my 23rd birthday. Of course, as soon as I saw the price of sunscreen in Las Vegas, I immediately regretted my decision to not care about money. But, alas, it was too late. I got a rather hilarious-looking sunburn on my legs that looks like I have giant bruises all over one side of each leg. Truly a beautiful tan. People keep asking me where my tan is at, and since Zack and I probably spent $40 on sunscreen while we were in Vegas (uh-hem, for only TWO days), I am proud to only have the disgusting tan on my legs to show. I guess that’s what I get for only reapplying the sunscreen every 40 minutes instead of every 25 minutes.
And then there’s the dentist. I have a love/hate relationship with my dentist because he’s a bit too honest and a little expressive in the eyebrow area. He is forcing me to get my wisdom teeth out tomorrow—which I am absolutely terrified about—and won’t let me come back until they are put to rest (so to speak). There is only one thing I am more disgusted by than needles, which is heights. But either way.
Last time I was at the dentist, he kept waving around a needle the size of a shotgun and when he finally started giving me the shot he suddenly stopped and asked me if I was feeling ok. WAS HE SERIOUS? No, I was at the dentist, and I hated every moment. He kindly explained that he thought I might “pass out,” and so he left the room to let me “breath.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, as I was more concerned after he left as to what he meant, and whether I really was going to pass out. It reminded me of Bill Cosby in this:
Anyway, so my dentist is forcing me to get my wisdom teeth out, and I think the biggest problem I am going to encounter is the IV they are planning to stick in my arm. The woman actually had the balls to call me today and tell me to wear a short-sleeve shirt. What the hell is wrong with this lady? It’s like she wanted to make me sick for two days before the appointment and then the required sickness afterward, too. I know I’m just going to sit in my apartment and watch junk television for the next couple of days and eat ice cream until I puke, all the while remembering that disgusting needle, which will subsequently cause me to loose my appetite. Perhaps getting my wisdom teeth out will be a great diet (of only ice cream?).