I feel the world bark back at me when I enter the bank. Something way under the stony floors and layers of cement reverberates through and swarms the stuffy cavities. I don’t think the tellers feel it. I don’t think businessmen feel it. I don’t think they remember sweet laughter and the ocean foam tickling their toes. I guess it’s New York City culture. Dying man on the sidewalk, heroin curing his brain. Dying man spending hundreds of dollars on a Saturday night reservation and calling this his special life. I get it. It’s cliched. But no one’s taking the advice. Everyone calls the dreamers the sweetest, the most poetic, but then turn right back to counting my cash deposit. “English was your major? Where has that taken you?” Further than you are willing to imagine.
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God, this is so true. English majors get too much unjust hate. Have you ever read something written by a STEM major? Communication is important
Oh my God ! Economics degree, teaching certification, foreign land and you are counting cash 3 times in a day to keep lowest paid job. That is what was my fate too. I quit in 3 weeks.
I’ve come back to this snippet at least four times. There’s something crazy memorable about it – perhaps how it resonates with me. I’m 17, and I’ll be transferring to a university this fall, but when people ask me what I’m majoring in (English) and I respond, they always seem to trail off into silence. They give off the impression that I’m “sealing my fate” or that there’s “something better” I could be doing. Oh well. I just smile knowing it will definitely take me further than they are willing to imagine.