2008 Woodie Awards
Bordering on a Breakdown
That Girl
Danielle Carrillo
Issue date: 10/3/07 Section: Opinion
Dear Borders,
I just wanted to apologize for my outburst in your store last week. It was completely uncalled for and probably a little scary, at least for your customers and employees. I just wanted a chance to explain myself.
You see, I just reached a point in my life where I realized that I'm still attending a community college while my friends are preparing for graduation. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but now that I'm ready to move on, my grades aren't.
I decided to work less and go to school more. I cut back on my hours at work, signed up for 18 units and started taking school
seriously. It's sad to say, but yes, it did take me three years to figure out this ingenious plan.
However, I didn't realize that, by cutting my hours, I was essentially cutting my income back by more than a half.
Also, three years of bad schooling means no Pell Grant and only a portion of my tuition covered.
But I'm hopeful and optimistic (and all of that other bright and shiny stuff), and I didn't think I was in a jam. That was before I stepped into your store.
For me, walking into a bookstore is like a kid walking into a candy store. I get wide-eyed as well as a craving for everything I can get my hands on.
I rushed to the magazine racks and grabbed the latest issues of Under the Radar and Filter. In the midst of my excitement I realized I couldn't buy the magazines.
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: I'm poor.
Obviously I'm not poor in the living-on-the-streets sense of the word, but I am poor in the sense that I don't have a penny to my name. I don't own a car or a house, I don't have a substantial amount of money in my savings account (or even a savings account for that matter), and now I am dependent on my parents, once again.
That's the most disappointing part of it all: the loss of my independence.
There's something about working for your money and being able to tell your parents you don't need their financial assistance. I'm proud to say that I haven't needed to have my mom pay for things like formals or back-to-school clothes or textbooks since I was 16. But now I do.
It happens to the best of us. We move out at 18 only to lose our jobs right when the lease goes up. We get pregnant and realize we can't afford food and diapers. We get laid off after the latest company merger.
We get sucker-punched and have to swallow our pride and ask our parents for help, whether it's financial or a roof over our heads.
Sometimes we need our parents to take care of us, even when we're grown-ups. And when that happens, sometimes we need to breakdown in a Borders bookstore in order to face reality.
It's only when you have to walk down the aisles of Borders with sunglasses on to hide swollen eyes and hyperventilating while asking the clerk where to find Bret Easton Ellis that we can step back and evaluate where we went wrong and how we can make it right.
I just wanted to apologize for my outburst in your store last week. It was completely uncalled for and probably a little scary, at least for your customers and employees. I just wanted a chance to explain myself.
You see, I just reached a point in my life where I realized that I'm still attending a community college while my friends are preparing for graduation. I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but now that I'm ready to move on, my grades aren't.
I decided to work less and go to school more. I cut back on my hours at work, signed up for 18 units and started taking school
seriously. It's sad to say, but yes, it did take me three years to figure out this ingenious plan.
However, I didn't realize that, by cutting my hours, I was essentially cutting my income back by more than a half.
Also, three years of bad schooling means no Pell Grant and only a portion of my tuition covered.
But I'm hopeful and optimistic (and all of that other bright and shiny stuff), and I didn't think I was in a jam. That was before I stepped into your store.
For me, walking into a bookstore is like a kid walking into a candy store. I get wide-eyed as well as a craving for everything I can get my hands on.
I rushed to the magazine racks and grabbed the latest issues of Under the Radar and Filter. In the midst of my excitement I realized I couldn't buy the magazines.
And then it hit me like a ton of bricks: I'm poor.
Obviously I'm not poor in the living-on-the-streets sense of the word, but I am poor in the sense that I don't have a penny to my name. I don't own a car or a house, I don't have a substantial amount of money in my savings account (or even a savings account for that matter), and now I am dependent on my parents, once again.
That's the most disappointing part of it all: the loss of my independence.
There's something about working for your money and being able to tell your parents you don't need their financial assistance. I'm proud to say that I haven't needed to have my mom pay for things like formals or back-to-school clothes or textbooks since I was 16. But now I do.
It happens to the best of us. We move out at 18 only to lose our jobs right when the lease goes up. We get pregnant and realize we can't afford food and diapers. We get laid off after the latest company merger.
We get sucker-punched and have to swallow our pride and ask our parents for help, whether it's financial or a roof over our heads.
Sometimes we need our parents to take care of us, even when we're grown-ups. And when that happens, sometimes we need to breakdown in a Borders bookstore in order to face reality.
It's only when you have to walk down the aisles of Borders with sunglasses on to hide swollen eyes and hyperventilating while asking the clerk where to find Bret Easton Ellis that we can step back and evaluate where we went wrong and how we can make it right.
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