I’ve been meaning to get it checked out, but between finishing college and job hunting, time and money have been scarce.
I switch off the ignition, say a silent prayer, and try again. This time, with a slow turn of the key and a few pumps of the gas pedal, the engine roars to life. I let out a sigh of relief.
Thank God. The last thing I need on my first day is car trouble.
Imagine calling a billionaire CEO to say I’m late because my beat-up car wouldn’t start. Not the best first impression.
Somehow, my car starts up smoothly, like it’s been waiting for this moment. I quickly shift into reverse and back out before it changes its mind.
Damn, I forgot to input the address. I haven’t been to the office yet. Thanks to COVID, the interview was over the phone.
The woman I spoke with seemed desperate. I guess they’re in dire need of staff.
I put the car back in park and pull up the company’s address on my phone.
Yeah, my car doesn’t have GPS. I rely on my phone. I know it’s risky, but it’s all I have for now. Hopefully, I’ll memorize the route soon.
Once the map is up, I shift back into drive and leave the parking lot.
I take a few deep breaths, telling myself that today will be great. I shouldn’t worry too much.
A few minutes later, I’m in the city. Cars are bumper to bumper.
Shit, this is bad.
The cars are at a standstill, stretching for miles. You’d think there was an accident, but no.
It’s just the city.
It’s nothing like Texas. I miss the open roads where you could get anywhere in minutes. Here, traffic is a daily ordeal.
The clock on my dashboard reads 6:45 a.m. Panic starts to set in.
Yes, I have panic attacks. My life is a mess. Pain shoots up my neck. I try to slow my breathing, telling myself that everything will be fine. I’ll make it on time.
As I sit in traffic, I think about my life, how I left my family and friends behind.
I’ve been lonely these past few years. The city folks at college knew I was a country girl and didn’t include me in their activities.
My mom suggested I join a sorority. I pledged, but didn’t make it. You know what they did?
They made a list, a freaking list of tasks we had to complete during the first two weeks of “hell week”.
The list was absurd. One task was to kiss a professor, a freaking professor. They were all at least forty years older than me!
Another task was to walk around campus looking like we’d just done the walk of shame. Messed-up makeup, clothes, and hair.
I did it. It wasn’t so bad. Students laughed and took pictures, but I could handle it. I even kissed a professor.
I chose the youngest one, a thirty-five-year-old teaching assistant. They counted it.
I completed all the tasks. I didn’t enjoy it, but I wanted to fit in. But it wasn’t enough.
They were only accepting three new girls that year. They made us stand naked on a table while they drew circles on us with black markers.
They mocked our bodies, pointing out everything that didn’t fit their perfect Barbie image.
The final straw was when they wanted us to wear skimpy underwear and post pictures of us online!
They wanted to show everyone our flaws. Back then, I was a bit overweight, so you can imagine how many circles I had.
I couldn’t do it.
Some girls were crying. I thought about how my dad would react if he knew I was involved in such a situation. I refused and they told me I didn’t have what it took.
Well, fuck them. I wasn’t going to let them humiliate me in front of the whole school.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the cars start to move. Thank God. I only have ten minutes to get to work, and I’m definitely going to be late.
Over ten minutes later, I find the parking garage and park on the bottom level. Now I have to find the elevator to get out of the garage.
Could my first day get any worse?
What else could possibly go wrong?
