Personal Narrative: Get A Job

I think back to the conversation a few weeks ago that led me to where I am now.

“You know we aren’t making you do this, right? You don’t have to,” I heard the compassion in her voice, but the desperation in her eyes was stronger. “I know I don’t, Mom,” I said to those anxious green eyes, “but getting a job seems pretty necessary, and seriously, it’s no big deal. I’m old enough and I would need to get a job in the next two years anyway. It’s just a head start.” I tried to sound genuine; what I said I had believed to be true, and I couldn’t stand the thought of adding guilt to my parents already staggering amount of stress. I looked down at the coffee table, and the bills I saw stacked there strengthened my resolve. “I’ll get my worker’s permit

I’ve worked twenty hours this week. I muse on my schedule as I put on my jacket, lock up the store, go out to my car to head home. School days are the hardest: I have school until 3, grab a quick snack and rush to work by 4 and stay until we close at 8. Though work is slow, I’d rather be spending my time studying and eating dinner with my family. I’m getting used to grabbing fast food on the way home and staying up past 12 every night on work days to get my homework done by the next day. Weekends are just a disappointment. Longer shifts and homework to catch up on keep me from spending time with my friends and sleeping in makes me feel guilty for wasting

Not that long,” I mumble back, thinking that the weekend wasn’t long enough, not to get all I need to done, though I keep that thought to myself. “Yeah, yeah, but we used to always see you on the weekends. Now we’re lucky if you talk to us at lunch instead of hiding behind a textbook,” she rolls her eyes. I’ve tried explaining the situation to them before, but with their Sweet 16 birthday cars filled with gas and maintained by their parents, and my skittishness about telling them the details behind my getting a job, I prefer to let comments like this slide. I just give a little laugh and change the subject. “Hey, weren’t you telling me about that guy Jason on Friday, something about a date? Obviously you have more interesting things to talk about than me,” I say, hearing Sierra laugh in response and Jessica chime in, “Yeah, you never called me about that!”. I smile a bit and try to pay attention to the new drama of these girls, but as we make our way to class, I can’t help but think that this little group who I had considered to be like family is now starting to feel like the house I had called home: foreign and