I am seventeen years old, and getting drunk is still a novelty. It has only recently occurred to me that my mother won’t think to check my breath if I’m coming straight home from work, which, for the past four summers, has been at a yacht club’s gourmet snack bar on the Long Island Sound, where I serve buffalo chicken wraps to the children of millionaires. My boss, Jack, is a temperamental but otherwise fully functioning drunk who works the system to get himself fourteen hours’ worth of free beers every day; sometimes he is feeling generous, and he spreads the love around.
Summer Job Diariest by Shannon Keating. (via therumpus)
It is actually heinous how autobiographical this story is for me, down to where she lives. The writing also reminds me of my style which is weird. Shannon Keating, who are you!? Are you me!? What is going on?