The Summer of Pickle Sandwiches

When this summer got underway, I was in a bit of a pickle. The kind of pickle that is sandwiched firmly between two pieces of bread that somehow symbolize laziness. I had just completed the most apathetic and lackluster semester of my college career, and I had done absolutely nothing to secure for myself a job to help ease my financial situation which can only be described as Chrysler-esque. I had relied on parental bailouts and infusions of cash loans to support my travel in the fall semester and bad habits in the spring. Waking up to my precarious situation, I felt guilt, anxiety, and hunger. Hunger for a job, and hunger for a pickle sandwich. Immediately, I began to find for myself chores to justify my existence on a daily basis, as well as a few hours here and there dedicated to applying for jobs delivering pizza. My seemingly helpless situation bogged me down and even caused a few days of real depression; the kind of depression that just boils up inside of you, urging you to do something with your life because you have no money to buy alcohol to drown it in. My Mother (who will be subsequently referred to as "Ma") saw this and it troubled, or at least annoyed her. "Why don't you apply for one of those medical studies." She suggested. I had thought of it, but refrained because I wanted to leave my schedule open for a job. As soon as I figured out my hours, I'd be able to fit a medical study around my work schedule. [Point of Information: These "medical studies" I'm referring to are amazing little opportunities that Cetero Research offers. Basically they give you a drug, take some blood from you, and give you money. It's important to note that there is almost no work involved in this process, and lots of money. I'd say it's low risk, which it is, but you're probably a superstitious jerk, so I won't waste my time.] Ma had come a long way from opposing my participation in such studies to now wholeheartedly endorsing them as a means of income. I am certain that this kind of resignation and apathy is what keeps any good family together. I explained why I hadn't signed up for any studies, but what met with Ma's cold, hard, and immovable logic: "You won't make any more working a part time job than you would doing one of those studies." I was tempted. But also worried about a potential secondary problem with signing up for a study without any other prospects lined up. That problem would turn out to be one that didn't really exist, except in my wildest imagination. You see, I was concerned that without real employment--a job that tagged me as an "associate, employee, or partner"--I would not find true satisfaction. That somehow, the title of "volunteer" would make any money I received from that position a little less satisfying. Because, you see, when I found out that I would most likely be participating in a study that paid $1,180 over the course of two weekend stays, I made a rough appropriation of the funds in my mind and figured out that this sum of money is pretty nice for me right now, and I would most likely line up another study after this one was over. What washed over me wasn't some feeling of emptiness, but one of relief and satisfaction. So I'm sitting around reading, playing video games, cleaning up here and there, and maybe riding my bike across town later... whatever. It's awesome. When I'm hungry, I tell the dog to bring me a bagel. When I'm tired, I sleep; wherever, on the couch, on the toilet, or perhaps just standing over a running lawnmower. What's most important is that I don't feel like a broke loser; just a single loser who lives with his parents, which, if I may speak so freely, is a pretty decadent lifestyle. Pickle sandwiches are a great metaphor. And even though that's a lie, and they aren't a great metaphor, I'll still slap some kosher dill spears on wheat bread and call it breakfast. Because even though pickles have almost no nutritional value, they taste good, so stop being such a drag, man.