Master Server

It’s raining outside. Last Friday in Anniston, and here I sit in my cluttered cubicle finding ways to pass time, waiting for phones calls from the National Guard and the VA. Four tabs sit at the top of my Safari: WordPress, Twitter, Facebook, and my email. Inbox (78). Still waiting for 79. Still hoping to click the tab to discover a new message from some newspaper I contacted during my job search. Four days left in Anniston. Soon I’ll have no where to go. Nothing to do but accept serving positions at two different restaurants in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. All while applying and waiting, applying and hoping that one day, someone will want me.

Sometimes I wonder if I wasted my time attending grad school. Perhaps I’m being a bit pessimistic here, but why did I put myself in debt only to continue waiting tables for the next week, month, year? I have received two callbacks, both promising, and both resulting in nothing. I dreamed about the moment for the past four years, the time when my schooling career comes to an end and I finally step foot into the real world, a place full of uncertainty and confusion, kissing ass, false hope, struggle, and disappointment. I don’t sound depressing at all. But it’s the truth. I spent the past year stressing and crying and working my butt to the bone just so I’ll have my Masters and perhaps a better chance of obtaining a job, only to become a server. Just so I can continue accepting $2 tips, scrubbing dried ketchup from tabletops, filling glasses of half-sweet/half-unsweet tea, and going home smelling like old grease.

What will become of me? It’s a scary thought, a intimidating point where I venture off to reality and hope that it doesn’t swallow me whole. All I want is the opportunity to tackle it head on.

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