Wait, we’re already on Week Three?

I trail through the union, looking for non-existent free seats. The confusing but

alluring mix of sushi and sausage rolls trails down the stairs. Go on then. What’s the

harm in one? I’m nestled into a corner of Old Bar with a Monday-special tipple before

I’ve even taken off my scarf. Nothing says “student” more than an afternoon pint over

poetry. 

My google calendar is full, my messages somehow overflowing and yet dry, and as I

sit and ponder I can almost feel the air picking up around me, slowly starting to fizz

and grow louder - like everything and everyone else at this time of year. I’m sweating,

despite the grey rainy skies from when I left this morning, and the cold pint feels

ticklish under my layers of fake fur and polyester blend. 

A notification disrupts my flow with a sharp sound in my headphones - I’ve been

ignoring the sound exposure warning for weeks. It’s a friend from home, just

checking in, just sharing a laugh. Hometown friends are the perfect mix of familiar

and distant, a beautiful blend of knowing who you are but not the context you exist

in. She knows the sound of my breath between laughs and which roads I gravitate

towards on late-night summer drives, but she has no idea which club plays the best

tunes on a Wednesday, or how I’m taking the module that all the year-aboves told

me not to. How sweet to be so loved by someone who has no knowledge of what my

day-to-day is like. It’s almost the opposite of superficial. She’s only around for the

biggest, deepest, most important stuff.  

My pint depletes to dregs, and I think, better get home. Better be good. Better save

myself, and my pennies, for Wednesday social. I take the glass back to the bar

because once you’ve worked in hospitality you have an unspoken bond with every

service person you encounter thereafter. And it sounds dramatic but it’s because you

know that hospitality can often truly feel like life or death. And you hate it, and you

won’t miss it, but you know one day you’ll reminisce. Or you’ll at least miss your staff

discount. But I suppose it’s truly not a marvel to only miss the benefits that

something once awarded us. 

Okay, home time. Hood up, scarf tied, sleeves pulled over my thumbs. I walk home

trying to relax my shoulders and poise with a straight neck because I watched one

singular video about back pain and neck humps. But, sometimes, I’d rather stand the

wear and tear, if it means getting to admire the leaves scattered across the

pavement. 

God, it’s week three already. How are we already on week three?

Words by Reese Wake (she/her)