In my Texas suburb, the rodeo girls starkly contrasted my usual peers in class. They wore Miss Me jeans with back pockets so bedazzled and gaudy that they would make scratching noises when they sat down on the bleachers in the arena stands. Joining them, alongside a horse named Doc, helped me survive high school.
Working at a supermarket leaves you with two choices: stick to yourself and be miserable or embrace the built-in community. The store might be the last place anyone wants to be, but sharing the hectic experience with each other makes it slightly more bearable. The friends I’ve made during my five years here range from my age — 20 — to 20 years my senior. Age is just a number until after work, when the older crew can be found purchasing craft beer, and I go for a diet peach Snapple.
Corals are not colorful in real life. The water column filters the colors, making them look duller than they do in wildlife documentaries and high school science textbooks. This is only one out of the many things I learned from the scuba diving side of my life.
My boyfriend says I’m cool because during Zoom meetings, I hike through the woods sporting my chestnut Ray-Ban sunglasses with the tops of the trees as my background. I don’t think much of it, other than that it’s my preferred environment. I like to move.