Picking Pennies

I am living in a piece of shit. This shitdom consists of a tiny and vacant single bedroom, a closet size kitchen, a suffocating compressed bathroom and a vast amount of rodents. I am a nineteen year old journalism student with a piece of shit apartment. Currently, that sentence defines the general ad description of who I am. I work at Chapters bookstore and I receive very little money, about $10/hour, approximately $1.15 more than minimum wage. My roommate is a 22-year old business University graduate and we don’t cross paths very often, all I know about her is she pays half of the $1000 rent. Yes. This piece of shit costs $1000/week. The city is one big rip off. I don’t eat out except when my friends allow me to be a cheap bastard. When I go grocery shopping, I spend a total of $100 and I make the food last a good month. I can’t afford otherwise. My roommate-Natasha and I label our groceries to keep each other from accidently eating the other’s hard earned-groaned-paid groceries. Yes, we label with a permanent black marker. The marker costs $4.00. It is a good quality investment. From my Chapters job and pennies I find on the floor, I make a total of $360 a month. You might be wondering how I’m able to afford rent and groceries. Well, I slaved over at McDonalds for five years before I went to university, coupled with the allowance, birthday presents, catholic ceremonial events and eBay profits I accumulated over the past years. In total, I have $5000.00 in my bank account. That means I have to borrow $240.00 from my account in order for me to be able to pay for the rent. This means that in 20 months (1 year and 8 months), I will not be able to live in this shitfest unless, a) I become a prostitute b) marry an 80-year old founder of a fortune 500 company or c) I move in with my parents. I am strongly leaning towards option B because 1) I will not be able to afford STD treatment and 2) Before coming to reside in this shithole, I announced to everybody that I would be successful and brilliant and I will never, ever move back in with my parents.

An acquaintance of mine in Journalism School asked me if it was all worth it. My answer was as follows:

My current situation leaves me edgy, anxious and at times, bitter. I feel especially bitter when I see trust fund kids with their 2008 Hybrids and I hear them gushing about the trip to Milan they're planning on going with each other. I feel especially bitter when I have to write journalistic pieces about heiresses like Paris Hilton, who didn’t have to do shit to get to where she is. But this is how I feel; these on the other hand are the facts: I am charming. I am a fucking brilliant entertainer. I have ambitions and I am damn well stubborn. Does that answer your question?

She didn’t respond, instead she stared at me for ten seconds and I didn’t wait for a response. I had to go to Chapters and earn my $40.