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J-Term:My time adulting

Ahh, J-term.

For many, J-term serves as a time to relax, take a break or, for the ambitious few, even enroll in a class. (That last option is reserved for those with money — J-term classes are like $10,000.)

However, a brave few individuals (me) opt to acquire a job and pay for the many expenses (car that I chose to buy) life presents to you.

I worked more days than I had off, and I loved my jobs as well as the people I worked with, which I am incredibly grateful for. If I wasn’t so busy over J-term I’d lose my freaking mind. 

I thought that working jobs in the adult world would be a good time to take a break from the antics that come with being a Miami student, but I couldn’t be more wrong. 

Working at a local townie bar proved to have its fair share of antics as well. 

The only thing worse than drunk college students is drunk middle-aged people. I’ve never received such direct sexual innuendos from female customers in my life.

And boy, if I had a dollar for every time someone said I look like Jeremy Allen White, I’d have well, maybe 20 dollars. But still!

Working at a middle-aged bar also can boost the ego a bit because damn, these ladies held nothing back. Even though I was probably half their age, I got constant compliments on my appearance, particularly my gluteus maximus. 

I also thought that going to the bars in Oxford was a fever dream, but here I am in Bloomington, Illinois driving a man named Cupcake home because he couldn’t find an Uber. 

In the wildest series of events, a drunken patron lost his phone and didn’t remember their address because of how drunk they were. 

Being the hero that I am, I drove him home, and it turns out he lives in my neighborhood. Boy am I lucky!

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Not only did I work at a bar, I served as an assistant manager (or as we call it “ass man”) at a climbing gym which had its fair shares of bloopers as well. 

Yes, said bloopers were mostly my fault but I did learn valuable lessons.

My dumbest moment occurred in consecutive shifts. There seemed to be a leak somewhere in the gym, so naturally I shop-vacuumed it up to clear out the water. 

The next day, I used the same shop-vac to suck up some dust from our other vacuum filter. As the shop-vac did its sucky thing, dust poured out of the air vent. Turning the gym pro shop into a dusty mess, reminiscent of “The Foggy Fog” from Dora’s Pirate Adventure.

My boss said, “Someone must’ve taken out the bag in the shop vac.” As we looked, embarrassment spread across my face faster than COVID spread at anti-vax rallies. The bag was broken because I shop-vacuumed water with a bag in it.

Apparently this is a no-no. Oops.

Adulting can be hard. But, we learn from our mistakes. Don’t be afraid to make them. 

john1595@miamioh.edu


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