Scrambled

Dec 4, 2008 by Sloane Solomon

Each month, Sloane’s funny frankness echoes the experiences of young people and their choices.

Remember when you were little and the school year was coming to a close?

You handed all your teachers crappy gifts from the sale section at Pier 1 Imports; you signed “2Good + 2Be = 4Gotten” in that bitchy girl from P.E.’s yearbook; and you dreaded not seeing your BFFAE’s for that two week break from school?

Yeah, neither do I. I just want this school year to be over. The constant driving back and forth from Downtown Miami (where I live) to Coconut Grove (where I intern) to F.I.U. (where I get my learn on) is starting to wear on me and my wallet.

“I stop at McDonald’s or Taco Bell almost three times a week and pretend that a kid’s meal isn’t that bad for me”

I know this isn’t groundbreaking journalism but every time I fill up my car it costs me almost three days of working full time at my minimum wage internship. On top of that I never have time to eat so I have to stop at McDonald’s or Taco Bell almost three times a week and pretend that a kid’s meal isn’t that bad for me. I will never, ever feed my children that crap. I swear that I can actually feel the French fries finding their way out of my digestive tract and burying themselves inside my thighs, forming some sort of mutated rectangular cellulite-type fat deposit.

I’m also so tired at the end of my 13-hour days that I don’t have the energy to do anything but complain about how I don’t have any energy. I’m starting to sound like an old Jewish grandma. I should just change my name to Ruthie now. Everyday I wake up and I say, “Oy, my back, this hurts worse than my bunion that looks like Al Roker.” Seriously, I am falling apart. Because I’m so run down I’m always getting sick, but I can’t miss work or school, so then I end up infecting everyone like a plague-ridden horse fly. I’m a walking, mumbling, achy, stressed out nightmare.

I just have to keep reminding myself that this is good for my future. I just have to keep telling myself that all this work and no play will pay off in the end. I hope one day as I’m sitting in my ergonomic Bang & Olfusen swivel chair, writing copy for some hysterical ad, I will look back on my days as a porky, stressed out, chronically ill intern-cum-student and thank my lucky stars that I made it out alive.

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