My Pretend Job When I first got to Berkeley I thought it might be hard to adjust to life without friends, family, a car, or Republicans, but I found that by keeping busy, I could maintain my sanity.  This is, of course, all theoretical. In all honesty, I didn’t keep all that busy, but it appeared that way to my roommate.  Seeing as my job with the ACLU didn’t entail very much work and I kept my friend-making to a bare minimum, I wasn’t exactly swamped.  In fact, if I had to characterize my life in Berkeley by any ecological formation it would have to be a peaceful meadow full of sloths.  Anyways, with ample free-time and an unpaid internship, I decided to go job-hunting. I quickly realized that I don’t have many employable skills.  I’m pretty good at giving up and I am a seasoned quitter, but other than that my work experience is limited.  So I prepared to return to the only life I know – Starbucks.  Like crawling back to an abusive partner, I went out of fear that I couldn’t do any better.  Sure, we had some rough times, but I would make it work this time.  But the more I thought about the half-hour bus ride to work, having a schedule, requesting days off, and the general hustle and bustle that accompanies the life of the working gal, the more anxious I became.  Worst of all, I envisioned the look of disappointment on yet another unsuspecting manager’s face when I lamely quit in two months time.  The stress of a menial job proved too much for me.  So I quit Starbucks before I started.  I felt much better, albeit penniless;  I was without a bean to roast, if you will.  I would make do, though, living off the land, or my parents, or what have you.  Luckily, I had a back-up plan.  Finally, I could be my own boss and devote my time and energy to launching my own line of quirky greeting cards.  (Unfortunately, I proved to be far too lenient a boss, so Joe took over.  So far, my work ethic has greatly disappointed him.)  It all seems simple enough; a story about growing up and the alarming self-discovery that working sucks.  But things grew oh so complicated when my busy roommate Jenafir surprised me by coming home one night to eat half a meal and engage in some friendly roommate banter.  “So how’s your new job?” she asked, smiling expectantly.  Having quickly forgotten last week’s ambitious spell, I hesitated, wondering what the hell she was talking about before realizing that I had leaked my plan to work at Starbucks.  Before I could think of a way to break the news that I am a lazy ne’er-do-well, I panicked and said “Good.”  As soon as I said it, I cringed.  Why?  I believed for that brief second that Jenafir would judge me if she found out the truth.  Sure, I’m comfortable with the fact that there are days when I only leave the house to walk three blocks to the library, but surely Jenafir isn’t ready for that.  After witnessing the obvious internal struggle I went through in answering, she double-checked, “You started at Starbucks this week, right?” “Oh yes,” I assured her.  That was it – there was no turning back.  And at that moment, I was no longer a girl, but a woman with a fake job. It was highly unlikely that I would ever be caught.  Jenafir is far too busy a person to come visit me at my alleged place of work.  Apparently, she lacks the time in her busy schedule to even double-check the spelling of her own name on her birth certificate or passport.  Not to mention, she would be on business trips in Ethiopia and India for nearly half the summer.  Or so she said. It’s really none of my business where she was.  But as much as I respect a person’s right to privacy, I felt slightly guilty lying to Jenafir.  In my defense, I tried to be as honest as possible despite my little fib.  For instance, sometimes when asked about my day, I would say, “Oh, I did some laundry, read a little – I didn’t work today.”  And when Jenafir told me an anecdote about an Ethiopian Starbucks knockoff that she thought the “guys at work” would appreciate, I just smiled and nodded. I guess I’m perfectly fine with my lonely, unproductive existence, but I don’t think the rest of the world is ready for it.  Until they are, I will wear my black work pants and walk briskly down the street so that people can continue believing that I have some place to be.