American Horror Story

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It’s Mother’s Day weekend and your family is in town for graduation. You have “worked hard” for four (or five) years and now you’re ready to move on into the real world — except you’re not.

Seemingly every day for the last five months, you have been asked, “What are you going to do with that liberal arts degree after college? Any chance you’ve found a job for your perpetually broke self yet?” Your answer has always been, “Not yet.” Well, that’s no longer an appropriate answer. You finally confess, “No, I’m moving back in with the parental units.”

Although what should you have expected? Procrastination always seemed to work when nothing but your sleep schedule and Netflix time allotments were sacrificed.

Graduation comes and goes, you move all of your belongings out of your historic house in Charleston and back in with your parents. You lay down on your bed in your childhood bedroom, stare at the ceiling and realize, “I don’t have a place in Charleston anymore, this is my home and I don’t want to be here.”

Nobody wins in this situation — your parents love you, but they are ready for you to actually move on with your life and do something productive. In fact, they may be taking after your college habits and trying to break out some of their alcohol with their neighborhood friends, only to have their vibe killed by your nightly presence. You don’t want to be at home because you aren’t a child anymore. And your bank account surely isn’t happy. You don’t have a job and your balance only goes down every time you go out and splurge on a Chipotle burrito. On the bright side, at least your dog Gary has another person to bark at when you walk in the door.

In your first few days back, you try to settle into your life but you come to a stark realization: you have literally nothing to do. All your childhood friends? They’re actually doing something with their lives. Friends from college? They’re being productive too. Your parents? Well duh, they’re at work, and your younger siblings are off at college. It’s just you and Gary, all alone, waiting for the mailman to show up.

Friday night rolls around: no friends and no pre-gaming. The most entertaining thing you can come up with is to take Gary on a walk. On your walk, you begin to ponder what your life has come to. You’re paying rent to your parents, the people who just last year were helping to pay your rent. Your dishes that magically used to wash themselves in the kitchen sink are now building up, and you can’t even leave the house on a Friday night without being asked where you’re going, with whom and what time you’ll be back home. One of the house-arrest bracelets is slowly closing around your ankle and you’re ready to gnaw it off.

The next week, you decide to go out to a bar and test your luck with women. Let’s face it, you don’t stand a chance. You’re a college graduate with nothing going for you except a piece of paper that says you graduated. And chances are, if things go well, they won’t be for much longer because the only place you can go back to is your parents house. You contemplate what you would say to the girl: “We can go back to my place… But you’d have to meet my parents.” Yep, you don’t stand a chance.

None of your childhood friends are in town, but knowing your luck, you’ll run into that one childhood bully you hated in the next few days. The ones you never want to see again, yet see the most often.

As you’re sitting on the couch hoping for some job to fall into your lap, you flashback to all the emails that you got from the College advertising job fairs and organizations coming to campus. You used to delete them quicker than you could blink. Hindsight is 20/20.

Moments later, your elderly neighbor knocks on the door and asks if you have moved back in and are looking for a job. That question brings a smile to your face until you realize that she is asking you to take care of her vicious rat-looking dog for a week. Oh, what your life has come to.

This article is farcical in content.

*This article first appeared in the April 2017 issue of The Yard. 

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