I told a man about my art, and I wasn't very confident about it. Told him I was in college, but I wasn't that great. And he told me some of the most sobering advice of my life.
"If you won't believe in your work, then who will, huh? No one wants to look at something you're selling like that."
He told me to keep my head up and stay at it. That I was too good for this place. I can't remember his name nor face, but I hope he's alright. He also homoerotically shared a cigarette with another dude.
Anyway, paintballs hurt eventually, turns out. I was out there from 6 until midnight!
So I feel like death, but at this point I would have suffered for nothing if I tapped out. So continue on until we're finally told that we're done. Yay!
We pile into the van, but we don't have a lot of room. So I'm shoved into the floorboard. Also the door wouldn't close for some reason, so we were zooming down this mountain while I was LITERALLY eating dust.
We get down there. Then, the man tells us we actually have another one. Go back up the hill.
GREAT...
We, the zombies, all groan and go back up the hill.
We conclude our prolonged suffering, and we go back down.
I am handed 40 dollars in cash by that wicked, wicked man. He smiles at me like the devil and says, "Good job out there! Think you'll come next weekend?"
Politely, I kind of half shrug and say, "Maybe, I do need the money. I'll try!" And the worst part? I earnestly meant that.
So I walk towards my car, and I'm chatting with this lady. Notably, we had to park across a field from the actual place. There's a large ditch on the side of the road for most of it.
To avoid tripping into the ditch, I walk in it right?
I then trip on nothing.
"I think I sprained my ankle," I say, not realizing I broke it until months later.
I hobble to my car. Text my friends in despair. They offer me a home cooked meal of some type of pasta. Maybe it was worth it after all.
The moral of the story? DON'T GO ON INDEED AT 2 AM.