I went to Shoemaker & Hardt (home of the best lattes on earth) this morning and they were training a new girl. I couldn't help but reminisce about the days when I was first training there...and then it hit me.
That was TEN. YEARS. AGO.
Ten years ago...I remember it perfectly: my mom picked my friend Brittany and me up from Wylie Junior High School one afternoon, and as soon as we had buckled ourselves in to her aquamarine Ford Aerostar, this happened:
Brittany: Tina, is it okay if Emily comes over today?
My Mom: No, Emily has to go to work.
Me: A...wha?
And so it was that I was the only kid I knew in the 8th grade with a job. I felt like Leonardo DiCaprio with my arms spread wide on the starboard bow.* (It's hauntingly appropriate that I should reference the Titanic, because two short years later, my dream-job-boat hit an iceberg of its own. That iceberg was called "a series of extra-curricular activities that conflicted with the four-to-seven p.m. window during which the store was open and I was not at school.")
I felt cool. Suddenly, I was in charge of my own destiny. I could finally support myself. (And by "support myself," I mean "waste the $20 a week I made on cheap lip gloss and jewelry from Claire's.")
That was the year I cut my own bangs too short the day before yearbook pictures. I couldn't drive yet. I was convinced I was going to be the first white member of Destiny's Child. And all I cared about was boys.
I remember thinking I couldn't wait to be in my twenties and living on my own, because then I'd be able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
Now I'm here...and it turns out I was kinda right. Case in point: I took three naps today.
If I ever get my hands on a time machine, I think I'll swing by the year 2000 and hand deliver myself a little note. Here's what it'll say:
Way to go, Fourteen-Year-Old Me. You are a visionary.
P.S. Don't date the kid across the street. He turns out to be a drug dealer.
Love,
Adult Me
*Gonna fly this boat to the moon somehow.
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