My Thought of the Day

I’ve been following various student loan stories, including Presidential Candidate Elizabeth Warren’s proposal for mass forgiveness and Candidate Bernie Sander’s proposal to make community colleges free to the public. 

Quite frankly, I’m pissed. 

But not for what you may think. I’m all for free community college, and while I believe Warren’s proposal for mass student loan forgiveness is a bit of a stretch, if she can pull it off, then all the more power to her.  

What I’m pissed about are the various negative responses to these ideas. For instance, I have recently engaged in a twitter argument with a fellow who suggested students, and I quote, “go to a cheaper college”. Some others suggested not to go at all, since high schoolers can’t afford it now. 

Seriously?  

These are our young generation’s only options? Either go to a cheaper college or not go at all? What if one of those high schoolers dreams of becoming a doctor, who by some sheer stroke of fate, ends up saving your life? What if one of those kids dreams of becoming a police officer, who ends up saving you from a burglar breaking into your home, or heaven-forbid, worse?  

What if those kids came from low income homes, or middle-class homes on the lower end of the housing spectrum?  

Are you seriously willing to deny those kids their dreams? Their hopes? Their futures? Just because their parents can’t afford to pay out of pocket? 

“But I’ve been paying off my student loans diligently!” Some of you may be saying. “I won’t be seeing any of that help! That’s not fair!”  

Dude.  

First of all, life’s not fair. No matter how many times you want to spin it, change it, manipulate it, life will never be fair.  

Second, you sound like those old-timers who always give some stupid version of that “I walked through chest high snow to and from school for five miles every day when I was your age. It’s unfair that you get to have a school bus and I didn’t!”  

Do you realize just how silly and ridiculous that sounds? 

Times change. Technology improves, and so should education.  

60 minutes did a segment on how NYU is helping medical grad-students via generous donors by paying their entire tuition. One of those students said with this help, he’d be able to become a better doctor instead of worrying how to keep his debts low.  

But according to some nay-sayer’s logic, since he can’t afford to pay for med school in cash, he shouldn’t be there at all. 

What if he ends up curing cancer? What if he ends ups finding a way to reverse Alzheimer’s? Do you seriously want to deny him his dream of doing some good for this world? Or anyone else, for that matter? 

Yes, I have heard that higher learning is a privilege. And yes, I have been told that not all of us can, and should, go to college.  

But shouldn’t that be the child’s decision, and not yours, a total stranger? 

By telling college students that they’re being irresponsible by going to school, or that they shouldn’t be going to school at all, you’re basically saying they shouldn’t dream. 

That’s not what we should be telling our kids. We should be encouraging the next generation to go after their dreams, their hopes, and their ambitions. We as a society should be rooting for them to find the next cure, to explore the unknown, and to reach feats we could only dream of. We shouldn’t be tearing them down or making them believe that they can’t change the world when we couldn’t.  

To those who still believe that the education of the newest generation isn’t their problem, I challenge you to turn to your child. Turn to your nephew, niece, granddaughter, grandson, god-child, and all in between. Tell them to their faces, without a waiver in your voice, as their eyes sparkle with hope and unbridled passion, that they aren’t going to school to further their education. Tell them you believe college shouldn’t be accessible to all, only those who can afford it in cash. I want you to tell them they shouldn’t chase after those dreams, instead, stay in the social status level they were born into until they die.  

Go ahead. I’ll wait. 

. 

. 

. 

Did you tell them? 

If you did, you have a backbone made out of titanium. 

You also don’t have a heart.  

In normal households, there are delicious treats such as frosted cupcakes, sugar-sprinkled doughnuts, and double-chocolate muffins with giant chocolate morsels littering the insides. These would be considered luxuries for most, and when they’re in the house once on a full moon, it’s a grand day to be had.

Not in my house, though.

When you grow up with a mother who’s also a closet-nutritionist, seemingly normal things to have in the cupboard, such as white bread, whole milk, and cream cheese are just as scarce as the double-decker chocolate muffin. Bagels are near the top of that list, if not at the very zenith.

That’s why one Saturday morning, when I clambered down the stairs in a sleepy stupor, wiping the sanded grit from my still tired eyes, I had to stop and ask my already giddy father to repeat what he had said:

“We have bagels.”

Those words would not form into an intelligent sentence for me. I stared at him, blinking slowly, waiting for him to throw his hands into the air and exclaim “April Fools!”, even though the month is almost over. This is the same man who, when I was 16, thought it would be hilarious to set a toy blue Volkswagen Beetle with psychedelic flowers all over it in the middle of the garage, and then led me out with a blindfold over my eyes and told me he bought me a car. That’s just the way he is.

Refusing to believe him that rainy Saturday morning, I padded over to the bread/cereal cupboard and slowly opened the old doors. Sitting there on the bottom shelf, all wrapped up in its plastic bags, were several bagels.

Mind you, these were the thin bagels that were supposed to be healthier for you, but they were still bagels.

There were bagels in the house.

If you thought I was exited to see my favorite coffee creamer back in stock at my local Walmart, you’ve never seen me with half a bagel in one hand, and the other half dangling from my mouth.

I was dancing all around in the kitchen, squealing with the same ferocity and enthusiasm as a kid racing to freedom on the last day of school.

I already had my bagel in the toaster and was just about to push down the button when my dad called over his shoulder and said:

“Oh, by the way, there’s cream cheese in the fridge too.”

When you have something in your life that sits perfectly on your tongue like a strawberry jam jar sealing itself on the first try, you try to keep it for as long as humanly possible.

Sometimes you get a warning that your favorite thing is going out of production, leaving you with enough time (hopefully) to go through the whole grieving process and then move on. Other times, this highly coveted item disappears from your life suddenly, instilling that god-awful feeling of abandonment, desperation, and unfulfilled wanting deep in your chest.

An example of the latter situation: I like to have a few drops of International Delight Oreo flavored creamer in my coffee (Okay, maybe more than a few drops, but you get the point.) It doesn’t exactly taste like the familiar cookie with the creamy filling, but it’s enough of a similarity where I can get up in the morning with a smile and start my day of answering angry phone calls with excitement. 

I bet you can only imagine my face when I come to find out my local Walmart ran out of this delicious creamer. 

Of course I am forced to go through the stages of grief.

Stage 1: Denial.

My mom and I searched the refrigerated shelves and cooled bins for any signs of my cookie-creamer. We even searched for my second favorite, the Reese’s flavored creamer, but to no avail. I thought to myself, no, there’s no way this flavor, based on America’s favorite cookie, is going to  disappear. Not possible! It must be here somewhere!

Stage 2: Anger.

I became angry with Walmart for not carrying this sweet concoction when I wanted it most. I was so mad with the company, I even contemplated boycotting them until they stocked it again. I would have even written to the Morning Sentinel (one of our state’s major newspapers,) and encouraged others to join me in my noble cause. We would have our Oreo creamer once again! Victory would be ours!

Stage 3: Bargaining.

I decided the next course of action would be to go hunting. If the Walmart in Waterville didn’t have my creamer anymore, surely the one in Augusta would! So, on one of my days off, I decided to take a trip into the Capital and seek my fortune.

No such luck.

I did, however, end up talking with this nice lady who was also searching for her favorite coffee creamer. She advised me to check out the Hannaford supermarket on the other side of town. Apparently they had a much wider selection of creamers for coffee connoisseurs. But when I got there, over half of the shelves were empty. Damn, I thought as I sullenly grabbed a nearby bag of Oreo cookies, foiled again. Maybe the Shaw’s in Waterville will have it?

I jumped on the highway and made my way toward the Elm City. I checked all over Shaw’s, thinking they would have some sort of weird advertisement cooling bin in a strange part of the store.

Nothing.

So, in small hopes shrinking by the minute, I trekked over to the Hannaford’s down the road.

Squat.

Zippo.

Nada.

Goose-egg.

I officially no longer have my Oreo Cookie Creamer. It was gone.

Stage 4: Depression.

By the time I made it home, I had several bags of comfort foods & a sweet cream creamer that tastes like someone melted vanilla ice cream and put it into a bottle. Tastes good, but it would taste better if it were whipped and frozen. Every following morning was a morning of dragging myself from the warm comforts of my blankets and make my way down into the cold kitchen.

Instead of tasting the sweet and chocolaty goodness in my cup, my mouth filled with cold stale vanilla with each swig. Mornings at work dragged. Life became drab and dull.

Stage 5: Acceptance.

Saturday morning springs up, and I rouse myself to join my parents for their weekly quest for groceries at Walmart. I had deigned myself to listening to uplifting music with one ear bud in, occasionally dancing silly to try and embarrass them. (Note: it is difficult, but not completely impossible, to embarrass them – they like to give it back to me on a regular basis. And hey, it’s a lot of fun acting silly!)

As we made our way to the refrigerated section, I was ready to choose the sweet vanilla creamer that my parents had become quickly attached to. I came to the utter and total belief that my sweet chocolaty goodness was gone, and I just had to move on and hopefully find something that was just as good, if not better. That was how life was, and I just have to accept it.

The Surprise.

Just as reach for the sweet cream, I see a familiar label out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and crane it to the side to get a better view, and lo and behold, there it was! The International Delight Oreo flavored creamer was back!

Before I even have time to think about it, I dive into the shelf and snatch out three full bottles with a delighted squeal. As I turn and hop-skip my way to the cart, I see my mom laugh and two strangers stare wide-eyed in shock.

One of them ask, “is that any good?”

Of course it’s good! I think. But, as the realization of what I’d done sinks in, I smile wide and nod while my face starts to feel slightly hot.

For now, things are back to being good. The sun is shining (or at least it was when I began writing this post), the fridge is full of Oreo creamer, and the uplifting music is making my emotions soar higher than the clouds. Life is back to the way it should be.

That is, until the Oreo creamer runs out again.

A couple weeks ago, I had the opportunity to venture into NYC and sit down for a job interview as an Executive Assistant.

Of course I jumped at the chance to work in the City that Never Sleeps. Who wouldn’t?! I’ve never been one to sit idly by and and let unspoken opportunities slip by me like an eel that glides by the fishing boat in the early spring mornings, and I wasn’t going to start now.

Thing is, as great and chaotically-organized city as New York was, the interview was, unfortunately, the exact opposite.

What should have been the first leg-jerking red flag was how the interviewer, a staffing company I’d never heard of, refused to do a Skype interview. Now, traveling to NYC was possible (I wouldn’t be writing this blog if it weren’t), but at this moment my purse strings are particularly wound tight. I couldn’t really afford to make a stay-over trip in the city, then head home a day later. Hotel rooms were expensive. Eating is expensive. Rule of thumb: the bigger the city, the more expensive things will be. Always has been, always will be. But, the woman I was emailing was adamant we meet face-to-face. So, seeing it as a test to see how willing I was to go the distance (Disney reference, anyone?) I asked my bosses for the green light to travel last-minute to the city. They weren’t exactly thrilled to see me go to a potential job-offering, but they wanted to show their support, (Bless their laid-back souls).

Traveling alone was something I’d done before, just not to as big of a city. The closest to a bustling city I’d traveled to by myself was Saratoga Springs, NY. (Awesome city, by the way. You should visit!) Understandably, my parents weren’t the most keen on my solo trip. So, with the green light from her own boss, Mom packed up some things to be my travel buddy. (She also had never set foot in NYC, so this was a win-win trip for her.)

After driving 7+ hours, we made it to our hotel late Wednesday evening (my interview was Thursday, so sleeping was top priority.) The room was fantastic, the food delicious, and hotel employee behavior was satisfaction. I completely recommend staying at the Stewart Hotel in NYC. You’re literally minutes from Madison Square Garden, shopping stores, and all sorts of amazing food! And it’s reasonably priced, too!

The next red flag I should’ve noticed was when I arrived to the staffing company building, the receptionist wasn’t even expecting me and had me fill out an application page, as if it were my first time applying. After I had waited for 10 minutes, the interviewer – the vice president of the company, none the less – had me sit in a small bland-white room at a cramped table opposite her. She then pulled out my resume that she had printed from my LinkedIn.com page, and proceeded to ask me where I was from. That wouldn’t be a problem…except my resume shows my address at the very top under my name. She was “surprised” to see I was from out of town and asked why I even bothered to apply to a job that wasn’t even close to where I lived. Before I could answer, she asked me why I had two Bachelor’s degrees, instead of just going for my Master’s, and I quote, “like any normal person?” In other words, she didn’t even bother to look at my resume.

I probably looked like a goldfish, or a koi, stationary at the front of the glass, with my mouth opening and shutting slowly like some animatron doll at Disney World. All of my preparation that I had practiced, all the answers I had looked up and rearranged to sound like my own intelligent responses, flew right out of my ears and up into space. I ended up stuttering my answers and found myself defending my decisions and actions in my life.

On top of that, the interviewer then proceeded to tell me that she would not be sending my resume to the company for the Executive Assistant position. Instead, she would be sending it in for the receptionist open position. Her reason: I had virtually no experience and had “just graduated from college” (please note: I have officially been out of college for almost 3 years. Will be 3 in May. Also, I’ve had at least 3 years’ worth of jobs where I performed assistant-related actions). It would be all fine and dandy…if the receptionist position was what I had actually applied for. Plus, it would have left me with a range of 40k to 48k per year, if the company was willing to pay me the 48k max, as I was told.

Long story short, I was being berated and insulted in every direction possible. To this woman, I wasn’t worth her time, her resources, and after the moment she found out I was from, as she called it, “Backwardsville No-where” Maine, I wasn’t worth the skin or breath I was given at birth. As far as she was concerned, I was a high society wannabe hillbilly. What made it worse was when this “interview” (which didn’t even last 3 minutes) was over, the interviewer didn’t even stop to try and shake my hand. She would have bolted and run away to the safety of her office if I hadn’t forced her to stop and shake my hand. I even watched as she wiped it on the side of her pants as if I had some sort of “low-class cooties” that she didn’t want to catch.

My mom and I spent the rest of the afternoon checking out Macy’s, dining on this amazing dish that had mini octopus, gigantic shrimp, and perfectly plump noodles, and observing how quickly people move around in the city.

For a few brief moments, I felt absolutely dirty from the “interview”. It was as if I had cannon-balled right into a giant mud pit, then promptly sashayed into a soiree for high-class socialists. My mind quickly slipped into that medieval belief that whatever social class you were born into was the class you would live and die in.

But, as quickly as I fell into that depressive mind-frame, I flew out of it. I may have been born in a “lower class”, as this woman believed, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stay there for the rest of my life, making piss-poor life choices and spending my money away on frivolous things. I come from two families of intelligent people. I come from first-class cooks, adventurers, warriors, and peace-makers. I come from healers, work-horses, and socialites. On several occasions, I have seen family members, both past and present, walk into rooms and instantly command every single person’s undivided attention. I myself have turned tides in council decisions.

I am NOT some sort of “unintelligent hillbilly” as this woman claimed me to be. This piss-poor interview, whether I care to admit it or not, has taught me an important lesson: there will be people out there in this world who will take one 3-second look at you and assume you are nothing. These people will continue to make you feel like you are nothing, most often-times to feel like something important themselves. The key is to not let them get under your skin. I know, I know, that’s easier said than done. I can attest to that fact. But the way I see it, if this woman, or anyone like her, tries to put me down, there’s a good chance it’s because she sees my worth and sees me as a threat. Good. Let me be a threat to her. That just means I’m stronger, faster, better. (think of the song from Daft Punk, not that mangled copy from Kanye-what’s-his-name).

The City was amazing, and the opportunity to show it to my Mom for the first time was an excellent memory-making experience.

The interview, to say the least, was much to be desired. If Windsor Resources LLC wants to actually stay alive as a business in this world, they need to start treating people better. I highly suggest everyone staying far away from these people if you want to get a job and be treated like a respectable human being.