The Adam Boy

CHAPTER 11 - STRESS

Finally the carnival was over and it looked like the students had returned to college. My classroom really got smaller in number of students. Unfortunately for me there was no one new. Angel and Vil were the only ones in my group who hadn't left college. On the first day that the two returned I gave the happy news that this year we were going to have classes with the Last-Biscuit-Of-the-Pack and Abraão again. I also said that I had gotten an internship on TV.

I had already been working on TV for almost a month and in the days that passed there was not much to do, as the TV website was not yet ready, and I was not yet producing scripts for the programs. He spent a lot of time only on social networks and MSN, in addition to meeting the other interns. I don't know if it's because they were interns or something, but they were all very friendly and excited. I soon got along very well with everyone.

My routine had then changed: in the morning I wrote to the website, that the floods had finally ended and I was able to post more pleasant and happy news. When it was midday, I would go to the train station, take the train feeling Luz and get off at Palmeiras-Barra Funda station, that would take about forty minutes. When I arrived at Barra Funda, I made free integration for the Metro services and took the red line towards Corinthians-Itaquera and disembarked at Bresser-Mooca, walked for another seven minutes and then arrived at the mirrored TV building, my second, and now new work, I arrived on TV ten to two in the afternoon and, since seven in the morning, I had only eaten bread with mozzarella and had a huge mug of pure coffee; he would have to work four hours hungry. Sometimes it was very hungry. As the work was quiet, at least for the moment, the hunger went a little unnoticed. When it was six o'clock in the afternoon I finally left to be able to have lunch. I ask you not to correct me as everyone does when I say that, at that time, I was leaving for lunch, because I really was. This was going to be my second meal of the day, so it was my lunch.

As the college was close to work, and there was no restaurant nearby, and the cafeterias that offered lunch no longer sold the meal at that time, the way was to run to college to be able to eat something there, which meant it was all very expensive. I don't know why the owners of these establishments think they should sell their products almost three times at a price higher than what we found abroad. I think they think that just because it was a university, everyone there was rich or well off. I wanted to arrive at a cafeteria, ask to speak to the manager and say:

"Girl, I'm a scholarship holder, I wake up at five in the morning (this time I had to lie, because now I woke up at seven), I work in two places, I just left one and I still haven't had lunch, I haven't eaten since the time I woke up . I'm hungry, sweaty, stinky, sleepy, stressed. In half an hour I have to study, and today will be the classes of the favorite teacher and teacher Bam-Bam-Bam. I will get home almost one in the morning, take a shower of the Japanese type: face, foot, butt. Dinner cold and tasteless food. Not to mention that I live with my younger brother and twin sister and have not seen them for a month, my dog ​​is crazy, my neighbors listen to funk on a Saturday morning, which prevents me from sleeping peacefully, and the night has club in the back of the house that also does not let me sleep. Could you give me a discount?"

"No", the bored manager would speak right away.

After that moment Bobby's Fantastic World, I returned to my world and waited in line to be able to place my order at one of the cafeterias that sold ready-made dishes for students.

"Next!" Shouted the smiling and friendly attendant

I thought about giving my speech to her. Would she listen to the end? The queue kept growing. I was sure she would understand me. In fact, how many hours was she not working there? How many times have you not worked hungry?

"Hi! Yeah ...", I stammered, not having the courage to pronounce what was in my throat, "I'll have the dish of the day, please."

"Is it with drink?"

Beverage? For what drink? To charge me $ 2.50 for a bloody 300 ml glass of a tasteless and CO2-filled bottle of Coca-Cola that would make me burp like an uneducated and disgusting ogre?

"Yes, please!", those words came out of my mouth almost tearing my eyes.

"Will a portion of potatoes go?"

My eyes drooped with attention and my right eyebrow lifted, watching that smiling and undoubtedly manipulative box. How can you? What kind of girl was that? What training did you receive to offer something to a client and the client accepted it in a hypnotic way? Potato? For what potato? To be charged another $ 3.00 for a portion of a caloric, greasy and dry pump, of a potato that would make you jam and leave your mouth full of old oil and already full of flavor for having fried so many other things?

"Oh, sure!", I hate myself.

" $ 15,40, sir. Anything else?"

"No! Thanks!", your other manipulator and money taker, I thought.

He handed him the money with a lump in his throat. It was a lot of money for a portion of rice, beans, a mixuruca salad of three slices of tomato with lettuce, a grilled chicken breast that looked more like a bird, a little jar of gelatin for dessert, the glass of the abominable Coca-Cola of $ 2.50 and the $ 3.00 portion of oil filled fries.

"Thanks! Next!", said the friendly manipulator, and I, the manipulated beast, thanked him with a half-smile. I would have to wait to call my password, which took almost twenty minutes.

And, until the end, he did something like people: eating quietly. I was in college, classes only started at 7:10 pm, even with the delay in coming to my meal, I had enough time to make a decent meal.