Every June (or even as early as May or April), I have to put away my favorite clothes and get ready to go to work another summer. It's grueling work outside of my normal job and volunteer work, though simple to do.
I wake up and voluntarily put on khaki pants, short-sleeved collar shirts, technicolor shorts, boat shoes and other pieces of clothing I look absolutely ridiculous in.
And then I go out in public pretending I enjoy the summer and love participating in summery things, like burning under the scalding sun and sweating to the point where everyone finds me gross no matter how little I try to do.
There's no pay, no incentives, no compliments for a job well done, and yet I've been showing up for years without fail and have many embarrassing photos of me to attest to my work ethic to summer.
This year's shift has not been bad at all. I've had worse shifts, to be sure. By August, however, I inevitably become a clock watcher.
I have about thirty to forty days left of this weather, and I'm counting all of them down. I put in my time, I've done the goofy summertime stuff, metaphorically made my way to the beach only to let all the beautiful hipsters trample over me.
All my body wants to do now is leave my summer job of summering and rest in autumn, otherwise known as my body and soul's vacation home.
I dream of walking in long coats and jackets, zipper and straps spinning as if celebrating with the leaves in an October afternoon breeze.
I wake up and voluntarily put on khaki pants, short-sleeved collar shirts, technicolor shorts, boat shoes and other pieces of clothing I look absolutely ridiculous in.
And then I go out in public pretending I enjoy the summer and love participating in summery things, like burning under the scalding sun and sweating to the point where everyone finds me gross no matter how little I try to do.
There's no pay, no incentives, no compliments for a job well done, and yet I've been showing up for years without fail and have many embarrassing photos of me to attest to my work ethic to summer.
This year's shift has not been bad at all. I've had worse shifts, to be sure. By August, however, I inevitably become a clock watcher.
I have about thirty to forty days left of this weather, and I'm counting all of them down. I put in my time, I've done the goofy summertime stuff, metaphorically made my way to the beach only to let all the beautiful hipsters trample over me.
All my body wants to do now is leave my summer job of summering and rest in autumn, otherwise known as my body and soul's vacation home.
I dream of walking in long coats and jackets, zipper and straps spinning as if celebrating with the leaves in an October afternoon breeze.
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