Welcome to Cornell Diaries, where we print the anonymous recorded lives of Cornell students. While The Sun maintains the confidentiality of each writer, all facts have been verified and all diaries record the truth.
Friday, March 5th, 2010
10:00 a.m.: No classes today! So I do what any slightly self-loathing but still-hopeful senior would do: Pop an Adderall and sit in Stella’s for hours as I attempt to write decent cover letters for job applications.
12:15 p.m.: Made it to Stellas, already downed two chocolate-infused coffees.
You know what sucks? Being a liberal arts major. “Oh yes, I will be a great philosopher-historian-sociologist-anthropologist-political-theorist-scholarly-douchebag.”
What’s most frustrating is that I have to lie on all of my cover letters. On all of my resumes. I have to lie about the one thing that, ironically, has given me the skills that would be most helpful in the workforce: I have to lie about my business experience.
2:00 p.m.: Excellent! Sent out one complete cover letter and resume, then heavily revised and edited a second.
2:10 p.m.: Some friends walk in and immediately grab a seat at my table, all of us bemoaning our terrible but undeniably privileged Cornell lives and the stress the comes with it. We complain, “Work! Cold! All-nighters! Psychiatrists! Hangovers! Out of weed! Three 15-page reports due in the same week! Random-things-about-capitalism! Sex!”
3:00 p.m.: A phone call.
My family does not have much money and Sallie Mae owns me. Luckily (cue sarcasm), I only have the “smart option” loan, a name that signifies its opposite. This means that I start paying off interest while still in school, while I also have to figure out how to pay rent and food (the “living expenses” part of my student loans have largely gone to paying off my student loans interests).
Great. But I’ve got it covered.
I take this phone call, because this is a “somebody” who wants to buy my bottle of Adderall. Thanks to the wonder that is health insurance, I can maximize income while minimizing labor and increasing school-work time (really, the “minimizing labor” part only works in theory, but at least I feel that I’m in control of my own business). That is, I sell things. Adderall and weed, specifically. Sadly, my health insurance does not cover marijuana, but the money I get from selling Adderall does.
3:30 p.m.: The client comes and goes, we chat for a bit, smoke a cig and it’s done. Sold. I now have an extra four hundred dollars.
5:00 p.m.: I really want to continue working as I know I still have about 300 pages of reading and far more research and writing.
This is why I try to move quickly: $400 is not enough so I plan to “invest.” Stressed, I stand outside beneath the awning chain smoking, making phone calls despite the rain, feeling on edge and frustrated. But eventually: success. I find someone with an ounce of weed at good enough quality and cheap enough price that I know the profits will be worth the minimal financial risk.
I sit down for quick calculations. How much weed will I throw into 20-sacks and for how much will I be selling in eighths? I make various calculations based on the potential qualities, quantities and my cliental. I think of how I can continue expanding and other strategies. My notebook is a mess of numbers and codes. I figure out how I can maximize what will be this week’s net-income, between the Adderall and the bud and other variables, to about $750. If I can really work it, I can even make $850.
7:00 p.m.: After a bit more reading in Stella’s, I get another call. It’s him. He’s outside. But the weed’s not on him, and needing a break from the seven hour work-a-thon at Stella’s, I get in the car as we drive off into Ithaca and beyond.
3:45 a.m.: I somehow end up in several towns that I never heard of, spend some time in Dryden and Brooktondale, went to two different parties with people I’ve never met, ended up at one fetish and bondage event, smoked a bit with a parrot sitting on my shoulder (how did the parrot get there?), made plans to go hiking next weekend with some new kids who also do far too much yoga, met a few other lesbians and was invited to stay with them whenever I’m out far past Cornell and need a place to crash. We all made plans to camp together at Grassroots this summer and had a great time watching The Last Unicorn with some other silly kids on mushrooms.
Negotiated some more on the price and the quantity and left, exhausted and excited, thanking the great gods above that I can spend most of my time off campus.
Now I’m back at my apartment, finishing up a minor 10-page history paper and deciding that I can still work in about three to four hours of sleep.
Next Friday, March 12th, 2010
9:00 p.m.: Yes! Everything went awesomely. Sold mad weed, got my next Addy "script" filled, made more than I expected and was able to not get evicted, buy food and satisfy Sallie Mae. I’ve only been doing this for three years.
At this point, I know how to talk to people, I know how to be both friendly and professional, I know how to keep business a business while still being a friend.
I just wish I could put this on a damn resume. RLD
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