Opinion: Digging out from under a student loan
After 13 hours on the job, I tuned them out and focused on my duties as assistant manager, which meant getting some work out of the five employees who were standing around watching the fight instead of cleaning the restaurant.
One of the servers and I picked up a floor mat and began dragging it to the back to be washed. As we passed the dish pit, I turned and caught a glimpse of the general manager, now hoisted off his feet, the chef’s hand clenched around his throat.
Dropping the mat, I dodged behind the chef and wrapped my arms around him – hugging him, basically -- so I could pull him off the general manager. I screamed for someone to help me.
That didn’t end it. The next thing I knew, I was between the two men, pushing and shoving them away from each other. (I knew they wouldn’t hurt me.) Next, they chased each other around the restaurant and took the fight outside, one with a puffed-up chest, the other running around, hiding behind cars and screaming for help. The cops arrived and cuffed the chef. The general manager wept in my arms, but ultimately decided not to file charges.
And for this I went to college.
Four years ago, I was figuring out what I would do with my life after I walked across a stage and received my diploma. I was the only one in my class graduating with a degree in creative writing, a fact that still depresses me. I had chosen to follow my passion and not a guaranteed career path. My family tried to sway me in all sorts of directions throughout college -- and up to this very day.
“You know there are a lot of nursing jobs out there,” or “Have you ever thought about computer coding? I hear that’s where all of the jobs are.” Those are commonplace remarks in discussions about my future. When I told my mom I wanted to pursue a management career in the restaurant industry, I am pretty sure I could hear her heart stop on the phone.
But like thousands of other people my age, I took a loan to pay for college. I don’t have to explain why I ended up in restaurants. There are thousands of reasons, all with dollar signs. I couldn’t afford to take an unpaid internship at a publishing house – which might have led to an editing position. When I graduated, I needed money for rent, food and payments to chip away at the massive debt I accumulated pursuing my passion.
To be sure, I didn’t go to an Ivy League school or graduate at the top of my class; I am completely average on paper. For every entry-level position, there are hundreds of applicants, most of whom have better credentials or connections. So I hustle my ass off slinging beer and making sure the people I serve leave happy.
Now, at 26, I’ve grown from a lowly server to the general manager, yet my wage is still mere dollars above minimum. Beyond breaking up that fight, I’ve cleaned up puke and waited for ambulances while complete strangers had seizures. I haven’t had more than a three-day vacation in years.
My generation is pretty much screwed. We will have to fight tooth and nail to get the jobs we want. When our parents were our age, most of them were working in their field with a decent pay and a sense of job security. My job doesn’t offer health insurance, let alone a 401(k) or any promise of a raise.
So did I totally forgo my dreams of becoming the next Dave Eggers? No. And yes, the odds are against me, but don’t look for me to quit. I’ll work for everything I have and fight for everything I want to become. I will keep writing. And somehow, as the years go by and the debt grows smaller, I will make a career, a life and a future.
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