What A Grand... Bait And Switch!

So after I quit my job(s), let go of my apartment, moved out (mostly on my own) in a hurry, shipped my car and blew a ton of money settling into my six-month job, I got a mysterious email.

The mystery wasn't so much in the content, because that was crystal clear, but who decided it and sent it to me without so much as a warning it could happen.

You see, I've been cut from six months to three. The importance of this? I get paid less as a 11-week intern, money I was counting on. It's a difference of over $150 a pay period. Housing for six months would have been nice, as well. I turned down my Dow Jones position because it was only 10 weeks, and this was six months. And who turns down Dow Jones? It's like taking the SATs and getting into Harvard and deciding not to go. Nowhere in the documents I signed was there a notice that the term could change... one week after I began working.

It should be noted though, that it wouldn't be the end of things for me. It's just the end of what I thought would be an amazing adventure. I could always somehow be extended to six months, or be placed in another park. Which, of course, would still require some traveling and cost. Nothing is ever written in stone, which is something I tell myself daily.

I guess this is what I get for trying to make my life an adventure. We always hear stories of how taking risks is the only way to get ahead; what people don't tell you is sometimes the risks don't work out. I find myself wondering more and more lately if I made the right decision in giving up the life I was supposed to have (ie, journalism) for a life of... well, I'm not really sure what this is, exactly.

In all great adventure stories, there comes a point where the hero/heroine faces a complication so great it's doubtful whether or not he/she is going to be able to pull it out in time. Inevitably, they always do. Sometimes I find myself staring up at a cliff face, tired beyond belief, wondering if I'll ever make it to the top again. Literally.

There are things you forget that you need when you find yourself so isolated. I think that because I'm so used to being on my own and doing things by myself it took two weeks to really hit me. Friends, being the first. Don't underestimate the value of just having another body sitting in a room with you watching television. It really can make all the difference. Security, another. In August, I face the greatest adventure to date: putting my life back into my car and.... well, that's about as far as I got in planning.

People keep telling me that life has its own way of working things out. Well, they must not have read my autobiography. You can't keep looking at everything as some sort of lesson or stepping stone to the Next Big Thing, the Real Thing, the Best Thing. Because at some point you'll be sitting alone in an office, staring down 22, and wondering where the hell your life went. Wondering where exactly you're going to pinpoint the best years of your life when someone asks you.

I've been running the race simply because someone told me, once upon a time, that I had to. How does that make sense?

Adult Swim

As a kid, I always looked forward to trips because it meant hotel stays. There's something exciting and fun about sleeping in a bed not your own when you're young. And then you learn about germs and that you're actually sleeping on a bed that potentially thousands of other people have slept on... naked. Your opinion of hotels alters slightly after this.

So when I was informed we'd be leaving York at 2am, I knew I'd be stranded in Triangle, VA, for hours (maybe even days) until the people from the SCA came in for training. This left one option: hotel! I'll admit, there was still that excitement of staying in a hotel room, watching the television, taking a really long, luke-warm shower on someone else's dime.

At 3am, we pulled out of York, PA, and hit the road. At this early hour, there was no other traffic, which left us breezing into Triangle around 5am. I was barely out the door when my ride screeched out of the parking lot. They were already on beach time, after all, I'd have shoved me out in a tuck-and-roll maneuver in their position.

In the lobby, a couple was sitting on the couches watching TV, but I thought nothing of it. Right until the clerk informed me that to check in then, at 5am, I'd be charged for an additional day AND I had to come check out at noon. Keep in mind, it's 5am. Being the stubborn (read: cheap) person I am, I camped out in the lobby alongside the other couple.

At 6:30, after I'd stolen some of the "hot breakfast" (read: thawed out bagels and OJ), the clerk offered to check me in. What a friendly guy, I thought. He was checking me in early AND made a point of smiling at me and telling me he "put me way in a corner so I could get some sleep." Could this day get any better?

I was in my room and sleeping by 7. When I got up at 11:30, the possibilities were endless. First, I thought, I'll get some room service. Oh wait, there is no room service. OK, well then I'll just hit the restau--nope, that doesn't exist either. Hmm, ok, I guess I'll just go to the pool and get some sun. What's that? The pool is closed? Come on! In my last ditch attempt, I returned to my room to rent some movies, the best part of any hotel stay. Hold up, where is the "menu" button on this remote to order movies?!

So with all my hopes crushed, I went to the fitness room expecting maybe three free weights (this is the day I'm having). To my surprise, it was an actual fully-equipped gym room. I watched some old movies on the big TV and did my workout, proud of myself for venturing out. All I could think about was a nice, cooling shower. Of course, the temperature can't be regulated so I got a nice, scalding shower instead.

Thank you, Ramada.com for your lies!