May 17, 2002 Yesterday at work was just like any other mundane carbon copy day, except it was my last. Since no one who takes the Follett blood oath can ever stay away for long, I consider this a mere sabbatical from life in the cage. Recently, my sentiments regarding the bookstore have not been altogether positive. Needless to say, if they had, I would not require this mental-health summer. Yet something kept me there for eight and a half months. I am not about to add up all the hours on my pay stubs like I did with Dairy Queen. My time at the bookstore always seemed longer than it was, my perception altered by some intangible connection. This is not the end of my stint as a somewhat-valued employee, nor do I foresee an extended period of time elapsing without some of it being accounted for on a time card. Just the same, I am relieved I have approximately two weeks with no obligations to the college as a whole.
What I'll Miss:
The people. The paycheck. Depositing the paycheck. The stock answer to questions like, "What have you been doing?". Getting paid to read. Time allocated to read. People who ask dumb questions. Having a routine and sense of structure. Having somewhere to go everyday. Being a veritable price listing. Knowing what I am doing. Being surrounded by books. Free books. Having an excuse for getting Bs in school. Feeling like I am doing something, albeit stagnating. Belonging.
What I Won't:
Not knowing what empty afternoons feel like. Having little time to write and make stuff. Answering the phone. Bitchy customers. Being exhausted. Feeling confined, ripped-off, and idle. My lungs being bludgeoned with dead air. Having to deliver the bad news (i.e., subtotal). Having to make change for everyone the cafeteria sends down. Having to make change for the cafeteria ladies. 101.1, CBS FM. People hearing where I work and feeling sorry for me. Not getting a raise. Being in the school for nine hours. Telling people we are not buying back their eighty dollar Math book.
There are more, I am sure. Right now, all I can do is try to comprehend a Monday without work. There has not been one of those since... Presidents' Day. This afternoon, I reveled in the delight of tearing the pages from my old notebooks for recycling. Something satisfying to me also benefits the Earth. My first final was nothing short of a mindfuck, thus I cannot begin to assess how I did. Thaddeus Tharney must make that the goal of each test he expertly crafts. Theories as parsimonious as those of Carl Rogers and Abraham Maslow were twisted into abstruse possibilities, impervious to the process of elimination. I did however, get through it in about forty minutes. Hopefully, all of my second, third, and fourth guessing will yield an A. Evidently, Thaddeus is no more generous than his exams are facile.
The History exam began with about five identifications out of fourteen, each about a paragraph long. Next was a "short" essay; mine was a page and a half. The take-home essay is good for 25 points-six and a quarter for each page. Professor Duvall also asked questions regarding the research we did for each of our journal entry papers, to affirm they were written by us. The first part of the multiple choice was twenty-five questions to be completed on a friendly caterpillar scantron. The second part was about thirty-five more detailed multiple choice questions. As my hand was detaching itself from my wrist and threatening to runaway, she complimented my writing, told me unless the exam was a disaster, I earned an A, and wished me a good summer. Aww.
As I summarized in my previous entry, this semester was a good one. I learned a lot more than I ever intended to about History, Sigmund Freud and Jamaican accents, among other things. Parts of it were good for no more than a headache, but at the end things came together. I got the grades I think I earned, and in a few weeks I'll know how my finals affected my GPA.
It's too bad I have no job to distract me for that long.
