“‘Enjoy the açai thing,’ I say, again mistakenly mispronouncing with the word with hard ‘c.’ She laughs in my face. I smile back. Maybe she thought it was cute? Maybe her finger slipped when she hit the ‘no tip’ button on her phone? Maybe the hundreds of other 20-somethings working in Midtown offices that I delivered to that summer accidentally tapped the ‘no tip” button as well?”
“It wasn’t that I was self-conscious; rather, I recognized how ridiculous the scene must have looked. I was half dressed with tussled frosted tips and drooping bags under my eyes. They were fully uniformed, standing at least half a foot above me and simply staring at my unkempt figure.”
“At Princeton, joining an eating club is like being a meat-eater: it’s a commonplace practice that has become the norm, but we feel there’s something morally iffy about the whole enterprise.”
“The pods are designed to wash your clothing and maybe even scent them with subtle lavender, not to satisfy an uncontrollable sweet tooth or the adventurous eater in your family.”
As the Umatter bus passes Tower, it is stopped by a man standing in the middle of the street. His arms are spread out above him and he’s staring into the sky as if deep in prayer.
“What was so different about turning twenty? It means I have passed something. That is to say, I have disappointed already. Former promise has resigned itself.”
