Status: Everyday updates since it's short!
The Chill Line
Seven // The End
It had to come to an end, my summer at Subhero. The University of Chicago was waiting for me and Tegan in August, and God knows I just couldn’t make the commute to the suburbs every day in between classes and homework. I told everyone I’d love to work there again, and on my last days with each coworker, I got a ton of hugs and good wishes.
My manager even got me a card with a note about how good of a worker I was, signed by everybody who worked there at the time. I never thought I’d appreciate working minimum wage so much, even if the whole experience had given me a few hundred dollars to pay for the ramen noodles I knew I’d be eating that semester.
They knew I was going to try and get my foot in the door at an animation or graphic design studio, and it had dawned on me that I was the only kid my age in my position who worked there. One girl was starting her junior year in high school, another girl had drifted around the country for years with a backburner-dream of being an accountant. My manager had been the general manager of a few chain restaurants up in Minnesota before moving to Chicago.
It’s kind of stupid to get so sentimental over it, I know. It was just a fast food job, for crying out loud. It’s been a while since my 2012 summer at Subhero, and I’m still hung up over it since it was just a great experience. I couldn’t really be sad on my last day because I knew it was all for the best; I wouldn’t be alone in college, not with Tegan, and they said they could always hire me back if I needed a few bucks.
I’ve still got all of the sandwiches memorized. You can holler at me if you want me to make you a club or spicy Italian sub, or maybe a flatbread pizza if you’re in the mood. I could still probably manage a salad if you give me a few minutes.
It’s one thing to have something burned into your memory after a rough time, but it’s always nice to have something frozen in place in your mind, pleasantly stuck there. Kinda like how the tubs of meat and veggies would get iced over after stagnant times on the refrigerated bain, chilled out after a slow day.
My manager even got me a card with a note about how good of a worker I was, signed by everybody who worked there at the time. I never thought I’d appreciate working minimum wage so much, even if the whole experience had given me a few hundred dollars to pay for the ramen noodles I knew I’d be eating that semester.
They knew I was going to try and get my foot in the door at an animation or graphic design studio, and it had dawned on me that I was the only kid my age in my position who worked there. One girl was starting her junior year in high school, another girl had drifted around the country for years with a backburner-dream of being an accountant. My manager had been the general manager of a few chain restaurants up in Minnesota before moving to Chicago.
It’s kind of stupid to get so sentimental over it, I know. It was just a fast food job, for crying out loud. It’s been a while since my 2012 summer at Subhero, and I’m still hung up over it since it was just a great experience. I couldn’t really be sad on my last day because I knew it was all for the best; I wouldn’t be alone in college, not with Tegan, and they said they could always hire me back if I needed a few bucks.
I’ve still got all of the sandwiches memorized. You can holler at me if you want me to make you a club or spicy Italian sub, or maybe a flatbread pizza if you’re in the mood. I could still probably manage a salad if you give me a few minutes.
It’s one thing to have something burned into your memory after a rough time, but it’s always nice to have something frozen in place in your mind, pleasantly stuck there. Kinda like how the tubs of meat and veggies would get iced over after stagnant times on the refrigerated bain, chilled out after a slow day.
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The final chapter. :,)Thanks for reading, guys! :D