It’s Monday. I yawn as I fumble through my large collection of silver and gold keys. My fingers glide across the metal surfaces, feeling through the many different engravings. I select one.
Like an adult trying to squeeze herself through a child tube slide, it doesn’t fit. I select the next adjacent key. The knob turns and as the door swings open, almost instinctively, my right arm flings itself to the wall and flicks on the light. My feet drag beneath me as I find the chair and stare at the blank screen in front of me.
It’s Monday – precisely one year ago. Heart racing, breath short, and keys in hand, I scramble through my intimate collection of silver and gold keys. I jam a short gold key through the antagonizing black lock and rush to the back of the store. I turn on the front lights and take a breath. I reach from behind the counter and put on my headset for the drive-thru window. It’s 7:01 and we’re open.
The prospect of summer jobs has always brought me so much anxiety. From the applications to the coveted interviews to the employee contracts, choosing the course of my fate for the next three months has always carried so much unforgiving stress and weight. Last summer, I was working at a franchise smoothie and sports café. This summer, I landed the position in the office of one of the world’s most famous psychologists. Although both constitute two lines on my resume, both in Times New Roman 12 point font, one can easily smell the significant differences between these two summer jobs.
One is in an office. One is in a café. One is full of screens and paperwork. One is full of strawberries and blenders. One is tiring. One is exhausting. One is lonely. One is desperately waiting for a moment to be alone, away from the demands and complaints of the customer, who always has to be right.
Although my new summer position has only taken hold for three weeks, I have quickly become accustomed to the quietness and emptiness of my tiny office. I wake up every morning, ready to greet the grey file cabinets in the left corner. I assume like many other individuals sitting in black rolling chairs, within three weeks, I have immersed myself in the monotony of the office.
There are days, however, when the air is different and human interaction comes in the form of a physical hello instead of the black words of an email. They don’t come too frequently, and some days, I wonder are these days actually worth it. I remember with distinct clarity the bustle of the storefront, the smiles from the regulars who greeted me every morning at 8am, the tiny hands of tiny children wrapped around green Styrofoam cups. Although I came home every night, tired, exhausted, and with significantly less money in my pocket than now, there’s a little part of me that, today, imagines life beyond the gray file cabinets.
