The Work-Study Job

If you’re receiving this, you previously subscribed to my writing on Substack. I’m on Ghost now. I also went fully anonymous on Substack. A few friends, welcome to the other side of me. It's Hawtorn V. Rabot, HVR, though a few of you know my real name.

I didn’t like the school. One semester in, and I couldn’t continue there.

I submitted transfer applications to multiple schools, but who takes a second-semester freshman? Why would someone want to leave after only one semester?

I was accepted everywhere I applied to, which was particularly funny since I was denied so many places my senior year of high school.

One place was affordable in state; however, I wasn’t, and they removed their legacy scholarship the year before. Another place was pretty expensive. They offered a small scholarship and work study. It wasn’t enough.

I flipped a coin a few times. I ended up going to the expensive school with little financial aid.

I went without knowing a soul. I didn’t know the town. I didn’t know the state. I wasn’t ready for the weather.

Being me, I only took core classes. I threw myself into my schoolwork and the gym. I took on nothing more, unless you count The Simpsons club.

I kept my head low. I stayed out of the way. I cooperated. I didn’t rock that boat.

They finally found me a work-study job. I was in the university box office, where I helped take tickets, answer calls, and coordinate emails. It was there I first saw your name. You wanted to see the Broadway shows on campus at a discounted rate.

I had no way to give discounted rates. I was a freshman with a work-study job, though that didn’t stop you from demanding that I make it happen.

I got frustrated. You got frustrated. I ended up telling you off one time in an email. I believe I referred to you as a “Karen” before that was a thing. I said you weren’t respecting my time or my financial situation since all my work-study hours were spent on you.

I heard later you showed up to talk to my manager.

I held my head in my hands. I knew what would happen.

My manager asked to see me at the start of my next shift. I held my breath and went in. He told me you came in. I tried to speak, but no sound came out. He then told me you praised my customer service and individualized approach. I was given a promotion and named employee of the month. I tried to speak again, but I couldn’t make a sound.

I waited for your next email, but it never came.

The next year, I was in the same job. I waited for you to ask about the Broadway tours.

You never did.

It was about that time TheFacebook came to the campus. I looked up your picture, and I was shook. I’d never seen someone look like that outside of movies and music. I’d never have emailed you on my own. I’m too self-conscious.

I sent you a friend request on TheFacebook, but then I canceled it.

I started a message, but then I deleted it.

Too direct.

I studied your picture. I stalked, no, I monitored your account on TheFacebook. I saw who your friends were. Where you typically stayed. What crowd you ran with.

They were different from me. I didn’t have much of a crowd or many places to hang out. I was too busy working, at the gym, or studying.

I saw your status that one Friday night. You and some friends were at the soccer game. Soccer was always free, and it was never crowded.

I went to the game. I saw you. I saw your friends. I paced. I looked for an opening. I finally sat in front of you.

But I never turned around.

I went back to my job. I looked at our old emails. I began drafting a response from the year before, but I deleted it. I went on TheFacebook, and I started a message. I also deleted that. I had nothing.

I once saw you posted when you were at dinner. I went to dinner too. I was so busy looking for you that I wasn’t paying attention, and I ended up bumping into you. You dropped your tray in the collision, but somehow, I caught it. I stared. I handed you the tray, and I walked away.

The next semester, I walked into my exposition course. I sat in the front, and I took notes, like always. After that first class, I was nearly the last out, and I saw you were sitting in the back.

Too far in the back.

I would never be able to make it happen.

I spent all semester gradually moving closer to the back, but my grade was dropping.

I had to do something.

I went to my job and saw all the upcoming shows.

I went to class early and asked the professor to hold you after class for a moment. She was weirded out, but I told her a little about why, and she agreed.

I remember nothing we ever wrote or read in that class. It was my lowest grade in all of college.

She asked you to stay back, and I took out the envelope. As you walked away, I asked you to wait. You stopped, turned, and asked what was up.

I about dropped the envelope, but it stuck to my sweaty hands. I put the envelope in your hands. “You like Broadway shows. I was able to work out a discounted rate.”

You stared at me. “Were you the one I emailed with?”

I nodded.

“I’m sorry I got aggressive. I just really wanted to see the shows.”

I slipped over my words. “I know, and I was rude.”

I started to leave, but you walked alongside me. “I told your supervisor how great you were,” you said.

I nodded. “That was three promotions ago, but I think you got it started.”

You opened the envelope and gasped. There were tickets to every upcoming show. “How did you do this?”

“I was promoted many times.”

“How much did this—”

“A discounted rate.”

“Wait, these seats are—”

“Orchestra. Center.”

“Wait, you got two tickets for each?”

“Yeah, friend, boyfriend, family, whatever.”

“How did you—”

“I’ve monitored you on TheFacebook since it came to campus.” You stared at me. “Not like that, but I’m an awkward and anxious person.”

“Okay?”

“I wanted to do something since I was rude and you got me promoted.”

You stopped walking and punched my shoulder. “Did you sit in front of me at soccer? Crash into me at dinner?”

“I’m really sorry.”

“I thought that might be you when class started.” You laughed. “It was impressive how you caught my tray.”

I looked at the ground. “I just wanted to give you this. I can’t sit near the back without my grade dropping, and I would never have the courage to talk to you.” I looked up. “Goodbye.”

I turned to walk. “Wait!” You ran in front of me. “Can we at least go get some food or something?”

I smiled. “It’s really okay. I wanted to do this.”

“I want to get dinner with you. I want to do that.”

I held my breath. “I’m really uncomfortable and awkward.”

“Cool. Let’s go get dinner now.”

I took a breath. “Okay.”

You laughed. “I have tickets for a show next week, and I don’t know many people who I would want to come with me. Do you like Broadway?”

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