mediocreborder

[mediocreborder]

Untitled work

First they tell you, “Make sure to graduate high school, if you don’t you’re going to end up flipping hamburgers for a living”. I started working when I was fifteen and a half years old- I was a swimming instructor at the YMCA, now they just call it “The Y”. I remember that team meeting, the re-branding seemed long overdue. That was in 2007 or so. I figured the responsibility of teaching young kids and toddlers how to keep themselves from drowning would put me on a track that lead anywhere but a griddle where hamburgers were flipped.

When you get to the end of this phase, they tell you, “Make sure to study for the SAT and get into a good college, otherwise you’re going to end up teaching kids how to swim for the rest of your life”. So, you get into a decent school, maybe it’s one in New Jersey, New York, or Los Angeles. You force yourself to break away from everyone and everything you’ve ever known, and you move from somewhere the people take things one day at a time, to a place where they don’t- they seem to jump from one week to the next, flying through the months drowning in entertainment. Surfing, dancing, drinking, singing, playing. The months fly by and suddenly you’re a different person with different values, and an outlook completely alien to the old you.

That’s how it was for me. The people in Idaho are nothing like the people in Los Angeles, Beverly Hills, Hollywood. It’s not a good or a bad thing, it’s just a thing.

Now you’re graduating from a good school, or a great school, and suddenly they’re asking you and not telling you anymore. “So, now you’re educated, are you going to get an internship with some big company, or go to a new school and get another degree?”. You’ve been going to job fairs and interviewing with cocky twenty-somethings for several semesters already, and nothing has worked out. You decide to apply to law schools, and in the mean time do what you can to get by and make things work, and just enjoy the days of sunshine and an open schedule. It’s time to lean back into the old way of life so the anxiety of being adrift doesn’t eat you from the inside out. That’s when you see a BBC News article about some germ from China that’s making people cough until their lungs don’t work; some people are losing their sense of smell, others lose their sense of taste- sometimes permanently.

Living in California during the lockdown was not exactly a fun experience. For the first time since I could remember, the freeways were clear, the beaches too. No tourists from Nevada tossing cigarette butts out the window, or lines in the restaurants at lunch. For the record, I’ve got nothing against people from Nevada, but they do seem to smoke a lot. So I wait. And wait. And wait.

The governor closes down ninety percent of businesses and nobody is hiring. Then he declares businesses can open up if they take certain precautions- then the lobbyists pay him more money and he shuts them back down. Money is rerouted and flows in new directions, no longer outward into the hands of mothers and fathers, cousins or uncles. All the money is flowing one direction now, upward and outward to bank accounts in countries that seem vaguely familiar but most people have never been to. Saint something-or-other, Isle-de-something.

           You can see what’s going on but there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. The powers in this state won’t even let you ride your bike down the street without wearing a cloth covering over your face. Is there anybody outside for your germs to infect? No, everyone’s inside watching Netflix. There’s been a ton of new releases, and nobody can go to the movies.

           At this point you stick it out, and there’s not much anyone can tell you  or ask you. You’re your own person and everyone is in the same boat.

Suddenly it doesn’t matter what school you’ve been attending or what job you might want. The charity you landed an internship with; the one that arranges flights for sick kids in rural areas to go to summer camps with their friends isn’t operating this year. You banked on that opportunity to give you some direction after school- all your eggs were in one basket, a basket that got dropped out of an airplane flying at 30,000 feet. You watch the eggs splat and fizzle on the dirty concrete that defines this place and now you have to pack it up and go back home where businesses are still open and you might be able to find a job.