It's not like I've married the wrong person; but it sort of feels like it

An enjoyable 2nd year of university has been completed. I now embark on the waiting process, with what feels like less apprehension than my peers, to receive my grades for the year. My lack of concern comes partly from my continued disdain for the grading system as a judge of intelligence, and partly due to the sense of security derived from the knowledge that if I’d spent any more hours grafting away in the library than I did, they’d have to make me a plaque. All I can do is hope I’ve done well enough to continue into 3rd year. And if not, well, we’ll deal with that when it comes to it. 

What now lays before me is a very welcome 3 month long summer, one in which hospitality is actually open (oh how I’ve missed the pub on a Friday night) and many of my friends are a mere 20 minutes walk away at most. The circumstances could not be more different from last year. 

Whilst I wasn’t as averse to lockdown as some people (and actually found myself rather enjoying it at times, I sheepishly admit), my god, isn’t it nice to actually be able to venture further than our own back gardens? Very aware that I’m speaking from a position of privilege, last year very much felt like a necessary pause. It was for me, almost a sanctuary from the shit-show of a first year university experience I’d been having. I was incredibly grateful to find myself once again nestled within my family home. I then lived with my best friend until the time came for me to move cities again, and even though at first it seemed like it would be the most erratic episode of big brother ever, it only made me adore the lil socks off her more. 

I passed the summer months sunbathing with my cat (what a tranquil life those felines lead), going on long walks, and teaching myself to crochet. It was, in many ways, a sort of bliss. Of course, none of this was worth the global pandemic and rising mortality rate because of it; if I could have traded in my hours of rest to stop the spread of corona virus, I would have in a heartbeat. That’s not say I didn’t do my damned hardest to make the best of a bad situation. 

This year, rather than thanking a global pandemic from granting me an escape from a disenfranchising and frankly depressing university experience, I’ve made the decision to stay in my university city of Manchester, instead of returning to Newcastle. I will always be a northern gal at heart, obviously, but truth be told there’s not that much going on back hyem. 

Some might think I’m mad, trading home cooked meals, cat cuddles and a double bed, for ground floor breeze blocks and carrier bag creases in my hands from weekly(ish) lidl trips. However, given how interrupted my experience of Manchester has been, as myself and many other students in halls spent 6 weeks instead of 2 at home over Christmas, and the fact that I have yet to set foot in the actual university building, I’m eager to see what this city actually has to offer. I’m excited to actually spend my summer with my friends (now that they’re mostly done with exams and stress-free too, STEM students, what can you do), in a city that I love. If the plethora of already explored parks is anything to go by, Manchester is a city full of delights. Quite honestly, I can sort of see this being my home forever.  

In my desperate bid then, to actually be able to afford to stay here, and so that I don’t spend every waking minute of my summer in an Austen induced spiral as I delve into rereading her romantic masterpieces, I’ve gotten myself a job. The ‘hot’ part of my 'hot girl summer’ involves me sweating in a mask as I sprint up and down 3 flights of stairs, rather than tanning in a bikini on a beach. The three floors of the tapas restaurant that I work in giving a whole new meaning to ‘Spanish Steps’ and quite frankly, Rome could never. But hey, you’ve gotta make sacrifices to make the good parts even better, right? If I’m not  ‘in college working part time waiting tables’, did I ever really leave ‘a small town and never look back’? 

Are Taylor Swift’s lyrics a good source for life advise? Maybe? 

However, in my haste and desperation to have the best possible summer, I have, in true Annie fashion, made impulsive decisions. Which I am now regretting. Getting overexcited at the fairytale dream I have concocted for myself of working in a kitchen, I’ve traded waiting tables at a Spanish tapas restaurant, for frying and assembling seitan burgers at a vegan diner. 

What I forgot momentarily about myself, is just how much I thrive off human interaction, whether it be entertaining colleagues or a vast array of outrageous customers. There’s nothing quite like the thrill of someone actually making eye contact and thanking you when you place their food before them. This is what it must be like to finally feel seen.

Be they charming or unpleasant, all of these people either restore my faith in humanity, or become material for witty anecdotes I write up to entertain myself later on. Whilst the food at the vegan diner is Annie-friendly, and handling it doesn’t give me the ick like scraping away the only partially devoured chicken bones at the tapas restaurant, I’m left wondering now whether meatless monotony is a fair trade off for Spanish scintillation. Ay Dios mío, que he hecho?! Que cosa maravillosa puede ser la retrospectiva. 

As it is, both jobs are good in their own way, although stationing me on the roof terrace yesterday did feel like rubbing it in a bit. Neither involve standing for hours on a clothes concession trying to ‘up-sell’ to people in for a browse rather than a new blouse and a break from the scorching summer sun. Nor do they involve sending the same 100 odd emails every single day, trapped in the same industrial estate. They don’t even mean that I have to get several tubes and stand in the same corner of the same exhibition with the same unbearable event staff for hours on end. It could be a lot worse. 

Have I made the wrong decision? Probably. But it’s a summer job. My potentially wrong decision is one in which the choices both involved friendly people and a wage in a city I happily call my home. It could be worse, and as my mum said this morning, it’s not like I’ve married the wrong person, even though it may feel like it. Not to be dramatic or anything. Every thing is temporary, and at least resigning from a job seems a lot easier than getting a divorce. 

Bring on the summer, please god let it be exciting.