You graduate hungry, enraged by the tyranny and rhetoric of our modern world. You apply to every job you can find, sure you can really make a difference in shaping the future. For some reason every time you actually get a call back from your resume, the interviewer doesn't seem to understand. "Wait," they say, "so you went to college to study boys and girls?" You tell them that it's more than that, but you never hear back.
You start working at Bill's Bar and Grill because it's the very cesspool of sexism and prejudice you want to confront. You also want to start paying off these debts. Every day for the first few months, you leave work enraged that people still treat women in such offensive ways, but after a while you're numb to it, and after a few years you don't feel much at all. Your fiery drive diminishes with each shift until you're mindlessly complacent.
Hows about you, me, and five uncomfortable minutes in my basement apartment next to the dusty Christmas tree that's still up from my last visit with my estranged children.
The Upper Kitchen Cabinet Where Your Roommate Keeps His Food: You’ll 'need the footstool' to reach your roommate’s 'fine selection' of 'stale cereal,' but he'll never notice if 'only a little is missing from each box.' Feel less guilty by reminding yourself that Jeff 'acts weird around your girlfriend,' and always 'asks about her.' What a 'creep.'
This ain't your daddy's globe...! .... or is it?!
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