Sugar sugar baby

[65] Stuck

The rejection emails piled up in my inbox like a relentless wave of bad news, one after another. Every time I opened my laptop, I knew what I was going to see—"We regret to inform you..." or "Unfortunately, at this time, we are unable to proceed with your application..." It was the same thing over and over again.

After the Starbucks incident, I tried applying to several fast food chains. McDonald's, Taco Bell, Burger King—you name it, I'd sent in an application. At first, I thought I'd land something quickly. After all, it wasn't like I was applying for a CEO position. But the rejections kept rolling in. On the few occasions when I did get hired, the jobs lasted less than a month. Either there was some excuse about "overstaffing," or they'd suddenly decide to cut hours, leaving me with nothing.

I sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at my laptop, rubbing my temples. My mom was in the other room, trying to figure out how to deal with the growing debt our family was facing. I could hear her on the phone, her voice low and strained as she spoke to some creditor, trying to negotiate. It wasn't going well.

I leaned back in my chair, frustration bubbling up inside me. Nothing was working out. Every job I applied for turned into a dead end, and the weight of everything—the debt, the rejections, the constant uncertainty—was crushing me. I couldn't even help my own family because I couldn't hold down a job for more than a few weeks.

Just then, my dad shuffled into the kitchen, his face tired and lined with stress. He sat down across from me, folding his arms on the table. "Any luck with the jobs?" he asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew the answer.

I shook my head, letting out a heavy sigh. "Nope. Same shit, different day."

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark with worry. "We could really use something, Tristan. Your mom's been on the phone all morning trying to figure out how to get these creditors off our backs."

I rubbed my face, feeling the weight of the situation settle heavily on my shoulders. "I know. I'm trying, Dad. But no one's fucking hiring. Or when they do, I don't last more than a month. It's like the universe is fucking with me."

Dad let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair. "I don't get it. You're a hard worker. Always have been. There's no reason why you shouldn't be getting something solid."

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "Tell that to the managers who keep 'overstaffing' or 'reshuffling.' Apparently, I'm disposable."

He frowned, his brow furrowing in frustration. "That's bullshit. They should be giving you a chance. This whole system is rigged against people trying to make an honest living."

I sighed, closing my laptop with a snap. "Well, whether it's rigged or not, it's screwing us over. I can't even contribute to the house. We're drowning in debt, and I'm fucking useless."

Dad shook his head firmly, his voice hard. "You're not useless. This situation is fucked, but it's not your fault."

I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the frustration boil over. "It sure as hell feels like it's my fault. I can't even land a fucking job at McDonald's. How pathetic is that?"

Dad didn't answer right away, just stared at the table in silence. I could see the stress lines on his face, the exhaustion in his eyes. The weight of our financial situation was taking its toll on all of us.

Mom's voice drifted in from the other room, still tense as she spoke on the phone. "No, we can't afford to make that payment right now. I'm telling you, we're doing everything we can, but we need more time."

I clenched my fists, the helplessness sinking in like a heavy stone in my chest. I hated seeing my family like this—desperate, stressed out, barely holding it together. And I hated that I wasn't able to help.

Just then, Mom walked into the kitchen, looking more exhausted than ever. She slumped down into a chair next to Dad, rubbing her temples. "That was another creditor. They're not willing to give us any more extensions. We're going to have to come up with something by the end of the month, or they're going to start garnishing wages."

Dad muttered a curse under his breath, shaking his head. "This is a fucking nightmare."

I stared down at the table, my stomach churning with guilt. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm trying to find work. I've been applying everywhere, but... nothing's sticking."

Mom sighed, giving me a tired smile. "I know, sweetheart. I know you're doing your best. It's just... everything is piling up so fast."

I nodded, feeling the frustration and shame claw at me. "I wish I could do more."

"We all wish we could do more," Dad said quietly. "But we're stuck."

We sat there in silence for a while, the weight of the situation pressing down on all of us. I wanted to say something—anything—that would fix it, but there were no magic words, no easy solutions.

After a few minutes, Mom stood up, her voice soft but determined. "We'll figure something out. We always do. Just... keep looking, okay, Tristan? Something's bound to come through."

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I believed it anymore. "Yeah. I will."

As she walked out of the room, Dad gave me a look—one that was filled with exhaustion, but also a kind of quiet strength. "We're not giving up, Tristan. We'll get through this."

I forced a small smile, though deep down, I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. The constant rejections, the endless cycle of failure—it was wearing me down. But I couldn't let my parents see that. They had enough to deal with.

"I'll keep trying," I said quietly. "Something's got to give."

Dad nodded, though there was a heaviness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Yeah, something's got to give."

Q: What would you do next?