Intro to Working World 101

I'd like to think I'm
still sporting Connecticut
plates on my car as
a symbol of pride for my
homeland. The reality
is, the car's still registered
in my parents'
name, and, frankly,
I'm not in any hurry to
change that.

After becoming privy
to this information,
my roommate's father
asked me when I was
planning on growing
up. Not any time soon, I
shot back.

Taking full financial
responsibility of my
car would be only one
of several steps I still
need to make to be considered
a full-fledged,
independent adult. But,
thinking back on the
past two years, in my
transition from life as
a student to that of a
working person, I think
there are plenty more
changes I've made
toward that goal than
there are responsibilities
I need to take on.

It wasn't long ago that
the decision to wake up
for an 11 a.m. class was
dependent on whether
the sunlight managed
to sneak through
my shades and burn
through my comforter.
Now, getting to work
before the sun's up is
hardly a rare occurrence.

Living semester by
semester with three-day
weekends every month
and month-long breaks
every year is a far cry
from struggling to fi t in
two weeks of vacation
between deadlines and
before the year ends.

And then, of course,
there were snow days.
Seeing flakes fall outside
my window was
once a welcome sight.
With the snooze button
hit, it meant I had
at least another hour of
sleep if not a whole
day of it. Now, the white
stuff incites immediate
panic. No time to
shower, get out the salt
and shovel.

Even basic tasks, like
feeding myself, have
taken on whole new
meanings. Sauntering
over to the dining
hall in sweatpants for
chicken finger Tuesday
is a luxury of the past.

Now, maneuvering
around busy grocery
stores, only to come
home to find the oven
is already occupied by
someone else's cooking,
has me living off
Lean Pockets more than
I had imagined.

On the bright side, it
does save me from doing
dishes.

Don't get me wrong.
I don't think I deserve
high marks for my attempt
at adulthood. But
after 20 years of worrying
over every percentage
point on exams and
essays, I'm OK with just
passing Intro to Working
World 101.

I still call home for
help every time my garbage
disposal is clogged
or my checking account
is frighteningly close to
falling into the red. So,
even if my license plate
isn't a symbol of my
Nutmeg State pride, it is
a reminder of the ties I
still have there.