A month from right about now, I will be in the airport in a pantsuit and carrying a briefcase, en route to Chicago from Minneapolis for a business trip. I'll probably be looking over file folders, adding notes and highlighting things using the writing utensils I now keep in my breast pocket. I'll make small talk with my boss as we wait for the plane to board, smiling so
much it hurts and agonizing over whether I am making a good impression.
In the back of my mind I'll be wondering what happened to fun, non-summer job Erin?\ Where can I find her? And why did she let ""internship Erin"" leave the house in such an unflattering pantsuit?
As the days get longer and grass greens up, ""happy-go-lucky us"" is slowly being replaced by ""work us."" It is a bittersweet feeling knowing you will have all the time in the world to spend afternoons at the Terrace or grilling brats at home, maybe even catching a movie or two—if by all the time in the world you
mean the week after finals but before your job starts.
It's unfortunate because summers used to be great. They were about surprises and the fun in having nothing to do. Now our time is scheduled, prioritized and managed. Summer is a nice idea rather than a lifestyle.
But what can be done? What grand scheme am I proposing to make it possible to make money, get job experience and still have time to kick back with friends every night? My clone idea got nixed pretty quickly, but papier-mâché dummies are still in the works. Until the logistics are worked out on those I am proposing a summer break, break.
Employers, summer class professors and parents with exaggerated chore lists nationwide, listen up. I am a studious, dedicated employee who is giving up hours of sloth to work for your company for 12 to 15 weeks. I don't ask for much, just your company name on my résumé and enough money to get by. I am ready and willing to give up almost all of my free time for you, but for this sacrifice, I want to keep 10 days.
I want 10 days in the middle of the summer, to fall asleep outside, launch fireworks in my backyard, eat all of my meals off of the grill and hydrate myself with a sinful combination of bomb pops and beer. I need this week and a half to recharge, smile and remember why I am working summers in the first place—so I can find a job in the future that affords me the luxury of vacation.
These 10 days are inconsequential. I probably spend that much time checking Facebook and going to the vending machine, so why not do away with them all together. You can save company money, and spare college students everywhere the heartache of never going swimming.
Grown-ups, give us the opportunity to catch-up with our ""fun, no-summer job"" selves and our rag-tag group of friends, sleep, TV and snack. We'll come back as new people, still wearing giant smiles, but instead of busting out fabricated enthusiasm about your golf game, we'll be chuckling about humorous incidents involving things like beer bongs and flip flops.
Just 10 days. Ten days to save your company money, save our morale and save summer for all of us.
If you're Erin's boss for the summer and you'd like to fire her now and get it over with, e-mail her at erincanty8285@hotmail.com.
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