Not a damn thing to wear
I don’t have anything to wear to work. This can’t be happening. It’s every eighteen year-old intern’s nightmare coming true: showing up to work for her first day, naked.
“But that’s why I got the job, sir, so I could afford to buy clothes!”
“I know I stripped my way through college, but it barely covers my loans!”
“No one ever taught me how to work the washer/dryer.”
“What? I forgot my clothes?! Well I’ll be a sonofabitch. I told you I wasn’t a morning person!”
“Shit, my A.D.D. is bad.”
I’ve had many jobs before, but the last one was before grad school. I didn’t realize how long it had been since I’d sat in a cheap office chair and stared at my four foot high walls in complete boredom.
