The Pitiful Twentysomething Checklist
We’ve all seen movies, right? (And don’t be one of those horrible people who’s like, “I don’t really watch movies!” Shut up. Everyone watches movies. You’re not better than me.) Think about the first thirty minutes of basically any movie that isn’t a sequel. That half hour is when the filmmakers take great pains to let you know what kind of protagonist you’re dealing with. Mr. Incredible saves a bunch of people at the expense of on-time arrival to his wedding. Dr. Peter Venkman uses an experiment to make a pretty girl think she’s psychic. Jack Sparrow sails in on the mast of a boat that is in pieces. Movies use all sorts of scenarios as clues to who we’ll get to know later on.
Sometimes the character is Pitiful Twentysomething. Think Nick Miller from New Girl, Jane from 27 Dresses, or whatever Chris Pine’s name was in Just My Luck (which is a really dumb movie but, hey, Chris Pine). These are young people who just don’t have it quite together yet, and there is a certain way that movies help us recognize them. The other day, as I was thinking about these Pitiful Twentysomethings, I realized that I am indeed one of them. How do I know this? Because the movie of my life has coded me as such.
As proof, I submit to you six points from The Pitiful Twentysomething Checklist. (If I were Buzzfeed, I would ask How Many Of These Have You Done? But since I’m not Buzzfeed, just keep score in your head or something. Or don’t. Whatever. I don’t care. It’s your life.)
1. Working in retail
As far as retail jobs go, I’ve been pretty lucky. The job I had every Christmas season of college was a really good one: solid bosses, fun coworkers, excellent hours, great-smelling store. Still, the mantra “the customer is always right” is never going to be an easy one to live by, because customers are people, and people are often stupid.
2. Getting splashed by a car as you walk along the side of the road
There are a lot of similar things in this category- getting rained on in the middle of walking somewhere, getting totally ignored in the rain by the bus you were waiting for, having your umbrella blown inside out- and all of them happened to me in Ireland. I’ve never been so enamored of a place whose weather was clearly not enamored of me. I think the technical term for this is a drive-by drenching. It makes all of your clothes wet, but also your soul gets a little damp, because how could somebody do this to me I’m just trying to walk to class man I hate humanity today. Or something like that.
3. Comically atrocious date stories
The guy who started a breakup conversation by asking if we were “donezo.” The guy who tried to hold my hand in the movie Contagion (which is about a humanity-destroying plague that is spread via human contact). The guy whose last name was a… scientific term…. for a… male organ. And who could ever forget Pudding Guy. Sure, I’ve been on some good dates, but if any of them were that good, I’d be dating the guy now. Someday I will tell my genetically perfect children how glad I am that their father wasn’t one of these guys… Or one of the even weirder ones who never made it to a first date that I just don’t feel good talking about on the internet. I’ve got some great stories, y'all. I’m going to be Ted Mosby 2.0. It’s possible that I already am.
4. A car that only you know how to operate
My 1999 red Honda CRV Cliffy is easily the my favorite object I have ever owned. I feel like if I were a car, I would be my car. I can’t really explain that any further. Part of this feeling is the fact that Cliffy has some definite quirks. He doesn’t allow me to shift gears unless the temperature outside is between 60 and 85. He starts to shudder a little bit when we get above 75 mph. His clock used to only work once in a blue moon, and only when his clock was working would he play burned CDs. My dad fixed the clock (Brian is the best), but ability to play burned CDs is long gone. All that said, I vow to drive my car until it absolutely grinds to a halt. I love that little machine with all my heart, and wouldn’t trade it for a brand new Lexus.
5. An apartment with so many problems that you wanna die a little bit
My junior year, Alyssa, Madeline, Lauren, and I lived in an apartment that was out to get us. One time, the smoke alarms went off without explanation or solution for four hours. I had to repeatedly jerry-rig the garbage disposal into functioning with angrily muttered threats and a broom handle. Our dryer would leave rust spots on our clothes, as if to remind us to appreciate how hard it was drying our clothes. But by far the best part of living at University Greens was the train that was so close, it literally shook our apartment. Every 1.5-2 hours, we felt exactly like Tobey Maguire-era Spider-Man (with slightly better crying faces). If suffering builds character, that apartment should get us sainthood.
6. Dealing with a nasty pest control problem
This is so gross, I can’t believe I’m even putting it on the internet. But it’s totally over now, so it’s fine. Last Monday, I got home from a blissfully busy leadership weekend in Branson, plopped down on my bed, and started to do some reading. I was feeling a sense of deep-seated optimism, which (as we all know) means something terrible is about to happen. Sure enough, a nasty gnat-looking bug hopped onto the pages of my Bible (Acts 2, although it wouldn’t have surprised me if it had been “count it all joy”).
After a bit of disgust and a pretty persistent itch on my leg, I did what we all do when we want to exacerbate a present concern: I googled. Sure enough, our house had the third grossest infestation that a house can have. Yep, I’m talking about fleas. These vermin were bequeathed to us by some long absent cat (re: cats are the worst), but they’d gone away for the winter.
Unfortunately, as a member of Reverse House Stark would say, summer is coming. Therefore, the fleas were back. This means that, for those few days, the only difference between me and a stray dog was opposable thumbs. I began to frantically take every step that the internet suggested: salt on the carpets, bedding in the dryer, frantic and frequent vacuuming, flea traps made from detergent water and lamps. Then I got the heck outta dodge, fleeing (HAHA GOOD ONE EMILY) to the apartment of some very dear friends.
Luckily, I have the best dad in the world, who came up the next day and bug-bombed our house. This is now my fourth day of flea-free living, and I have never felt cleaner ( though I guess part of that may be my three showers a day). One unexpected benefit of this whole ordeal is that I never thought I would be a person who got to look over the carcasses of her enemies. Now I have. I’ve never felt more like a Khaleesi. DRACARYS!
Those are just some of the ones I’ve lived through in nearly three (!!!) years of my twenties. Still to go are the following:
7. Terrible and expensive injury that came from doing something totally normal and/or stupid
8. Roadtrip ending abruptly in a highly avoidable car accident
9. Entirely tragic job interview (I’ve had one, but not getting that job meant that I did get the best job in the world at Kanakuk so I’ll let that one go)
10. Finding out that I have a coworker who wasn’t born when Hercules came out (I’ve already had a kid look at me like I had a third eye when I asked her if she was alive in 1997, and I know it won’t be long before those people are joining the workforce)
I’m sure there are many other Pitiful Twentysomething rites to come. Bring ‘em on. As I’ve been told many times, it’s no fun to be on a rollercoaster that only goes up.