Dear Adulthood,
Hi. My name is Jillian. We met briefly when I turned 18, but haven’t had much contact since. I’ve heard a lot about you, and not all of it good. Some people say you suck the fun out of everything and require people to be serious all the time, but I’m sure that’s just gossip. Surely you can’t be all bad. I mean it’s because of you I got to vote and buy my first pack of cigarettes. And later, when I turned 21, I’m told it’s you that made it OK for me to finally buy alcohol. This was good because I was tired of getting people to buy booze for me. So thanks for that.
The rest of my letter...
It’s a tough business to break into, but I knew that before I got involved.
Currently I’m sitting at a solid number 2 in the lunchroom. It took months of bugging my mom, but I finally got her to bump me up to Salami sandwiches with an extra dessert, instead of carrots and that horrid Egg Salad shit she tries to pass off as food. What’s wrong with her anyway? Doesn’t she know what sells? Her concoction of eggs, relish, and mayonnaise is so bad the dog won’t even touch it. Every operation has a weak
link, but I never thought it would be my own mother. If my cards aren’t played right, I could wind up with a scandal on my hands. When Jeff Wright accidentally traded away several spoiled turkey sandwiches, he almost lost it all. Even now he struggles to break back into the Top 20. There’s no humor in shame like that.
Everyone knows I covet the Top Spot. And it’s true I stepped on a lot of people to get to where I am now. It was me who added cayenne pepper to Billy’s Mediterranean chicken, it was me who stole the extra bags of chips I knew Cindy brought to school, and it was me who committed one of the worst deeds our lunchroom has ever seen. I got David Trekker suspended for a fight I started, when he jumped in to break it up, I lied and said everything was his fault. And the teachers believed me, they always do.
More of this engaging lunchroom saga...
