1
SIENNA
Thank you for your interest in the Architectural Associate position at Pinewood Construction. At this time, we have decided to move forward with other candidates…
My last bit of hope shrinks down until it’s nothing more than a crumb as I read the words on my laptop screen.
Exiting the email, I hit the trackpad harder than necessary as I reach for the small cup of coffee on the diner table and take a drink. It’s bitter, bleak, and void of any joy (a.k.a. sugar). Just like my chances of graduating from college with a job lined up.
Grabbing the sticky maple syrup bottle from the table, I drench my stack of pancakes as I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I’ve spent the past few weekday mornings in this diner before my first class of the day.
Most college students would prefer a quiet environment or at least somewhere with more comfortable seating. But the library isn’t walking distance from myapartment, and coffee shops don’t serve stacks of fluffy pancakes like these. Most breakfast places in Portland don’t serve affordable, edible food on a college student's budget.
That’s what keeps me coming back here. The pancakes.
It’s certainly not the ambiance. I jump slightly in my seat at the sound of a ceramic plate shattering against the tile floor. Grimacing, I do my best to ignore the high-pitched scrape as the two materials come into contact, and one of the servers begins cleaning up the mess. The grating noise mixes with the expletives from the kitchen as two of the chefs argue over something. The fighting is a daily occurrence that most diner patrons watch through the pass-through window behind the bartop.
My throat warms as I sip my coffee, looking at the many business cards and advertisements laid out under the clear plastic tabletop. I remember a few of these businesses closing over the years, and I’m surprised this diner remains standing. Given the tear in the red-and-teal booth seat across from me that seems to grow each day I visit, I’d assume they are close to meeting these other businesses’ fate sometime soon.
As I take a substantial bite of my carb-loaded breakfast, I think back to the crisis at hand. Five companies have turned me down for architecture jobs this week. That’s not including the other ten that turned me down this month and the fifteen I didn’t hear back from. I’m still waiting on a few responses from other companies, but I’m starting to run out of jobs to apply to.
It’s the beginning of May, which means I have sixweeks until I graduate with my bachelor’s degree in architecture. If I don’t secure a respectable entry-level job, I’ll never be able to build the career I want, I’ll never be able to make the kind of money I want, and I’ll end up like?—
“You doing okay, Sienna?” The perky voice of my server, Jane, catches me off guard. She’s come to learn my name, given that I sit in the same booth every day.
No,the world is about to open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole.
Considering it’s not socially acceptable to dump your existential crisis on your unsuspecting server, even if you do consider her a familiar acquaintance, I nod and give her the most polite smile I can muster at the moment. It must’ve come across less polite and more “I’ll murder you in the woods” than intended, judging by her grimace and the speed at which she walks from my table to the kitchen.
Thankfully, she tops off my coffee mug before taking off. But it’s safe to say she won’t be coming back around anytime soon for another refill.
My attention is briefly pulled outside when I hear rain begin to softly tap against the glass of the diner window to my right. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I’ve never cared for spring. As I got older, I started to grow tired of Mother Nature’s indecisiveness during the second quarter of the year.
A cold, rainy morning usually ends with the sun high in the sky, reflecting off the many puddles that accumulate throughout the day. Sunglasses are a spring essential around here. Without them, you’re sure to be blinded bythe sun’s reflection in the pools of water. Not to mention, the Portland State University sweatshirt I’m currently bundled up in is going to be unbearably hot by the time I’m finished with my late afternoon class.
Thankfully, the apartment I share with my best friend, Beth, is within walking distance of campus, so I can run home and change if needed. Sometimes the perks of living in a walkable city outweigh the weather’s variability. Although, as I stare out the window, I still find myself counting down the days until summer is in full swing.
Watching the rain pour down as people rush to nearby buildings, I note who is using an umbrella and who isn’t. It’s a fun little game I like to play called “Spot the Tourist.” Spoiler alert: none of us PNW natives use umbrellas. It rains year-round here, so we’ve all learned to embrace it.
Shaking off my moment of procrastination, I turn my attention back toward my laptop. Just as I’m beginning to regain my focus on job applications, Jane flies by, frantically trying to deliver a strawberry shake to a family a few tables down from mine. Between the scowl on the woman’s face, the way the man cowers behind the menu, and the young child throwing crayons across the table, I’d bet they were about two seconds away from asking to speak to the manager.
Stabbing my fork into the last bit of my pancakes, I savor the bite as buttermilk and maple flavors fill my mouth, all wrapped in a fluffy package. This place might be run-down, but they know how to make a damn good pancake.
I glance down at my smart watch, 9:13 a.m. The cheap, pseudo-gold link band serves as another reminder to regain focus on my job search. Taking one more sip of my bitter coffee, I set it aside. Only forty-seven minutes until I need to leave for my first class of the day. I’ll be damned if I leave here without having submitted every possible application to any company that will have me.
Pushing past the numbness growing in my fingers, I hit submit on my tenth job application. I continue my search through various online job boards as I hear the high-pitched chime of the diner bells mounted on the top of the entryway door.
“Table for ten!” a man yells excitedly at the host. “No wait, eight…No…ten!”
Glancing up, I roll my eyes at the group huddled in the entryway. Judging by their stance and the way they sway and cling to each other, it’s clear they’re running on fumes from whatever frat party they attended the night before.
I silently say a prayer that they will be seated far away from me, preferably around the corner behind the kitchen, so I can continue to be productive for the last eleven minutes I have here.
When they’re seated at the table right next to me, it can only mean one of two things: I was a very bad person in a past life and this is a result of my karmic cycle, or Jane requested they be sat here as a result of the unpleasant smile I gave her earlier.
The latter is confirmed when Jane saunters over to their table and giddily takes their orders. Honestly, I can’t be mad at her. I may not have time for a man right now, but she has my full support if she’s on the hunt for one. If you look past the “I’m either still drunk or very hungover, but I’m not sure which” look on their faces, most of them are decent-looking, I guess.
I just wish this display of testosterone didn’t have to happen right next to me, distracting me from the very important task of making sure my life doesn’t completely fall apart before it even starts.
