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Good things come to those who wait

I never expected the slip of paper serving as a placeholder in my diploma case to already request my financial support for the university I attended…but I wasn’t surprised either. After all, my nonprofit institution deserves reimbursement—they needed the $80,000 my parents forked over for the terminally idle flat screen TVs accessorizing every visible wall on campus. And who better to ask for additional funding than graduates who haven’t even finished crossing the stage, much less found employment or housing in New York City? Okay, I took it personally, but independence leaves me poor, homeless, and unemployed. I never thought graduating early would only rush this inevitable harsh reality. Fortunately, I see it as an adventurous opportunity to achieve editorial employment in the four months before hundreds of May graduates merge into the already overcrowded rat race. Or I did before I arrived two painfully realistic days ago.

Upon my re-arrival to New York City five teasing days after Christmas, I rushed to an excitingly affordable apartment available immediately—exactly what I was looking for. Three increasingly threatening subway transfers later I was walking down a dark, graffiti-ridden, unwelcoming street on the phone with an ex-boyfriend willing to give me the limited illusion of safety that verbal company can provide. I confessed to nearly giving my purse away to get the seemingly inevitable over with. When I miraculously survived the never-ending trip to the available room I found it to be smelly, unattractively vintage, and closet-less (I may have consolidated my clothes, but I’m still a girl!). My over-expressed hopes of striking a cheap find before inconveniencing a friend I could stay with were down the drain before I even stepped inside.

I was proud of myself for being so conscious of my financial position that I gave the place a chance, but overwhelmingly relieved when my taxi arrived…until I saw it was black. If there are ten top shreds of New York advice I hold dearly, one is “only take the yellow taxis,” but this was an obvious exception. I thought people said this because the black taxis were shady or overpriced, but this particular driver didn’t even know how to get to the Upper East Side, much less my specific address. He had to call a friend for directions! Shocked and weary I said, “Just get me to Manhattan, I can take it from there.” He then proceeded to flippantly mention he didn’t take credit cards, but could stop by an ATM if need be. Knowing he would find an ATM far enough out of the way to steal more of my hard-earned money I unwillingly complied as I only had a five. Of course, my ever-so-trustworthy driver chose a convenient store so ghetto it was caged—perfect! We passed a Bank of America no more than two seconds after I made it out alive…

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