I tap my foot and stare at the clock on the wall of my classroom, which reads 5:03 pm. I’m late for work. Again. I know that by the time I change and head from campus to the hotel, I’ll be so late I just might get fired this time.
It’s all Stacy Peterson’s fault. If I have to hear one more annoying question coming out of her overly lipsticked mouth, I think I’m going to snap.
“I’m just confused about the part of the project where we talk about the different parts of Albuquerque,” she says.
That’s it, I think, and then I remind myself to take a deep breath.
The thing that I really want to do— which is to rip out Stacy’s highlighted hair, strand by strand— might feel good in the moment, but it won’t get me out of here any faster. I try to think fast: how can I to get her to shut up?
“Emily, the locale differentiation portion was your idea,” says Professor James. “And a great one at that. Why don’t you explain it to Stacy?”
Oh, great.
While I’m pleased that Professor James— who is not only the teacher of this class but also the head of the entire Social Work Master’s Program— has noticed my ambition, and while I want this project to be a success, I really don’t have time to explain such obvious matters to Stacy— who will undoubtedly be asking me the same question tomorrow anyway.
She is definitely the weakest link in our group, and the main reason we had to stay after class and ask for extra help from Professor James. When I agreed to do it, I’d had no idea we would be here for two more hours. I’d obviously underestimated her stupidity.
It’s always the rich girls who are clueless. Somehow a guy just like Stacy swindled my own dad out of his life savings in some kind of ponzi scheme. He hadn’t had a lot of money but what he had is gone now. And that’s why I think rich people are shameless: they look for any chance to make more money, even by taking advantage of poor people like my dad.
“Our program should identify different areas of town and incorporate plans for each of them, so as to show where the areas of need are greatest,” I explain, although the dumbfounded expression on Stacy’s face remains the same. “The needs of girls in the South Valley, for instance, will be quite different from those of girls in the Northeast Heights.”
“Because…?” prods Stacy, her face a blank look.
Oh, my God. I want to explode.
I want to tell her, “Because girls from the South Valley— like me— have poor parents and poor school districts and underfunded resources, whereas girls from the Northeast Heights— like you— have rich parents and rich school districts and very well- funded resources.”
But I don’t. There are some things that someone like Stacy will never understand— not just because she’s an airhead but also because she has no clue. She’s never had to understand them. And I have no idea why she’s enrolled in this class or why she wants a Social Work degree. I have an instant distrust of rich people and I almost wonder if she’s here to spy on us poor people, or work against our efforts.
Figuring out Stacy Peterson is not my problem right now, I remind myself. Making it to work as soon as possible is. So, I throw out an idea.
“Let’s get together to discuss this further, and I can answer your questions one on one,” I tell her.
I instantly regret my offer, but at least it works.
“Sure,” says Stacy. “Professor James, will you be able to meet with us too?”
So that explains it, I think.
Perhaps the entire reason Stacy wanted to have this after- class meeting was to get up close and personal with the professor. Maybe that’s the sole reason she enrolled in his class. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was also the main or only reason she’s pursuing a Social Work degree.
“Of course,” Professor James says, and I swear he blushes a little. “Just let me know when works for both of you. And anyone else here who would like to come,” he adds, looking around at the rest of the group members.
But I have no time to compare schedules. I’m already tossing my laptop into my bag and starting towards the door in a hurry.
If I lose my job, I won’t be able to attend school here, and school’s my life. At twenty- four years old, I have no husband, no kids— not even a boyfriend. I hate to admit it even to myself, but I’ve never even had sex.
I came close once upon a time with my boyfriend Wade in high school but that all ended and it was for the best. At least, that’s what I usually try to tell myself. Even though I haven’t been able to find anyone who makes me remotely interested in them compared to the way I felt about Wade.
Ever since things didn’t work out between Wade and me, I’ve thrown myself into my studies and my goals for the future. It took me a while to realize that such a future didn’t include him, but at least I’ve been building the kind of life I want without him since then. And that kind of life includes keeping the job that helps me go to school, even if that means rushing out of class in order to do it.
“Great, thanks Professor James,” I tell him. “I’ll get back with you tomorrow about a time that works. Bye everyone.”
“I was wondering about the grant- writing portion…” Greg, a fellow student, begins, and I hesitate at the door, lingering while deciding whether to stay just a little longer.
Unlike Stacy, Greg actually has a good question. The grant- writing portion is my weakness, and something I need help on. I’ve helped develop most of the program that will comprise our future foundation, but, without funds, there will be no way to make it a reality.
“Can we please discuss this at our extra session?” I ask, hoping not to incur the wrath of my fellow students.
Most of them, other than Stacy, are as serious about this degree as I am, except that many don’t have to work a job in addition to going to school.
“I have some questions too,” I explain. “But I have to go.”
“Why don’t those of you who wish to stick around today do so,” Professor James says, much to my dismay. “Since everyone is here and might not be able to come back at a different time, it makes the most sense to just keep going. Greg can share his notes with you, Emily, and you can ask any questions you have that don’t get answered today at our next after- class meeting. We also have a lecture coming up on grant- writing next week, and a guest speaker to help out.”
“Okay,” I say, resigned. “And thanks.”
I know I should stay so that I don’t miss anything. Greg’s notes aren’t exactly thorough, or even completely legible for that matter.
But I have to keep reminding myself that if I don’t keep my job, I won’t be able to afford school. My student loans are generous but I also have to pay for the apartment I rent, as well as all my other expenses, which somehow seem to always spiral out of control. I’m no good at handling money, especially since I never have enough of it.
I leave the group I want to stay in— as long as Stacy’s done asking asinine questions, that is— for the job I hate. But I hope I still have the job, since I desperately need it.
As I hurry to work, I can’t help but think about Wade again. How would my life have been different had I stayed with him? I suppose I’d be a military wife. It’s probably best that he and I didn’t work out, so that I could concentrate on what I truly want to do. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget about him— clearly, after five years, I still haven’t.
But I have to get my head out of memory lane and onto the road that takes me to work. Because this isn’t five years ago. This is the here and now, and I’ve got a job to get to, ASAP.