𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔 | 𝑫𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ Pony Express?

Monday, September 21st

Today was the day.
After hitting rock bottom on the job search, I'd finally caved and applied to every place I could find—restaurants, office gigs, you name it.
I was desperate.

But somehow,
fate or perhaps misfortune had landed me here, getting ready to tour the strangest of them all...

Pony Express.

The name alone had me
scratching my head, and honestly,
I couldn't shake the feeling that this was about to be...
Interesting?

The boss, whom I'd met briefly on a call the other day, had a personality that was hard to forget.
He went by... what was it? Shirley?
No, wait—Wurly? Ah, right, Curly!

That's it.

The guy was practically vibrating with energy, like he'd had too much coffee or way too many energy drinks.
He'd spent the call hyping up the place like it was the best thing since sliced bread, promising to give me a "mountain" of company merch.

T-shirts, caps, you name it—
branded with the logo of the famed Pony Express.
Between his endless sales pitch and over-the-top enthusiasm,
I'd barely managed to keep up.

It was one thing to be excited about a job, but Curly seemed to treat this delivery service like it was the answer to all life's problems.

As a college dropout stepping into the workforce for the first time,
I knew things wouldn't exactly be easy. Navigating job interviews, memorizing dress codes, pretending to care about the "company mission" —
it was all new and a bit overwhelming.

But here I was, determined to make my own way.
Sure, my parents are middle class, so we're not exactly scraping by.

They'd always covered my needs without complaint.
But now that I'm old enough to want some independence, the idea of constantly relying on them just... didn't sit right.

I needed my own cash and the freedom to spend it how I wanted, whether that meant splurging on late-night takeout or saving up for a road trip. I knew my parents would probably tell me to take my time, get back on track with school, or even let me stay rent-free.

But, to be honest, the idea of hearing "What will you be majoring in?"
at every family dinner irritated me...
I didn't know what I wanted to be.

How hard could a job really be?
I mean, people do this every day, right? Sure, I'd never been exactly thrilled about work — but maybe I just needed to find the right fit, something
I wouldn't despise waking up for.

So, here I am, getting ready to meet my potential new boss at Pony Express, trying to convince myself it can't be that bad.
Just deliver some packages, nod along to whatever "team-building" lecture they throw at me, and collect a paycheck.

Easy enough... or so I thought.

I threw on something simple —nothing too revealing. The boss didn't seem overly strict about dress code when we talked, but he did make one thing clear: always wear the Pony Express shirt. Not that I had one yet, but it sounded like I'd be getting a pile of them soon.