Another Post About Adulthood & A Candy Shop Horror Story

Check out my wonderful co-worker :) (We aren't that blurry in real life)

Adulthood is a series of numbers to memorize. That, and paperwork ( I can fill out my basic information backwards, with my eyes closed, and one hand tied behind my back). But mostly numbers. I've learned memorizing your social security number as soon as possible is incredibly helpful. If I would have memorized mine when my mom first suggested it, I could have avoided ten minutes of frantically calling home while in a parking lot, trying to fill out a job application. Uhm, yeah, could you find my social security card? It also would have saved me an awkward half hour of pitiful conversation at our local technical college's registration information night while my mom drove home to get (you guessed it) my social security card.

There's also the responsibility element of adulthood. This has been a thankfully gradual process, I'm not paying for my own food, water, and shelter yet. But I do get to vote this coming week. The excitement I have about getting to wear a 'I Voted' sticker is probably a sign that I'm not as grown up as I'd like to think I am. Another sign is dragging my dad into the bank with me to set up a checking account. 'Do you need me?' 'Well, no...butdon'tleaveme!' 

-I did do the talking, for the record. I even had to give my mother's maiden name for the first time. That was weird.-

Even though I'm no where near 'qualified' to give 'adult advice', to any underage readers out there:

Adulthood is full of 'already adults' who are willing to teach you to 'adult'. 

This includes nice bank workers. Parents. Your boss. Not all grown-ups are scary. Actually, most grown-ups aren't scary at all. They're willing to help. And I definitely need it. :) I needed it when I rang up the wrong total for a customer and I'll need it continuously in the next few weeks months years. 

Random story that I don't have a good transition for: I had a customer come in last week who came straight up to the register and stated he had a special request. He proceeded to say something that, for the life of me, I could not understand. I asked him to repeat it and I still had no idea what he was saying. Assuming that he was asking if something was in stock, I turned to my boss, who was wrapping up a conversation on the phone, and asked Do we?

Turns out the man was asking if I liked Phantom of the Opera because that's what was playing on Pandora station when he came in. The poor man was trying to make conversation and I managed to make him feel very confused.

 The special request turned out to be chocolate in the shape of a skunk, in case you were wondering.