Free Love and Other Things I'm Bad At by Catherine Clark Page A

was supposed to say something about themselves. Knew something was odd when the 6 people before me all stated their sexual preferences. Didn’t understand how that related to dairy products. I didn’t want to state mine because it seemed like I might be the only hetero there, but I did say, “Hi, I’m Courtney, and I think I’m at the wrong meeting.”
    “It’s okay, Courtney,” the group leader said. “Everyone feels shy at first. It’s normal to be uncomfortable, but no one’s going to judge you here.”
    The woman sitting next to me reached over and put her hand on my knee. “We’re all friends, and nothing you say will go beyond this room.”
    “Okay, but um . . . is this about milk?”
    16 blank faces stared at me.
    “I’m supposed to be at a meeting protesting hormonal supplements,” I said.
    The group leader, Jay, cleared his throat. “This is the meeting for Bisexual and Gay Republican Hearts. We try to introduce students who have something in common?”
    Agh! I was at dating club for non-hetero non-
Democrats! Stupid me got initials confused.
    “You’re not here to infiltrate our group, are you?” one paranoid guy asked.
    “You’re not here to find out our names?” someone else asked.
    “You’re not free on Saturday night, are you?” the girl next to me asked.
    “My sister’s a lesbian,” I said. “But um . . . I don’t know if she votes Republican or Democrat. Excuse me.”
    How embarrassing!
    Sunday nights. Not Monday nights.
    When I told Thyme about it, she said, “Well, of course. I could have told you that.” Then she rattled off every campus group’s meeting time, place, agenda. So why didn’t she tell me that when I mentioned I was dashing off to the meeting? Does she want me to fail? Does she want hormones in milk?
    If I had a photographic memory, I wouldn’t go through life constantly embarrassing myself. I would also be nicer to my friends.

9/12
    Sitting at BF on my break. It’s raining. I should be studying, but, oh well. Ben is studying and isn’t that enough for both of us? I should also be writing Grant a letter (we decided not to call this week in order to save $$). But I’m not in the mood. Can’t tell him how I blew first attempt to get involved in community.
    Mark seems to be walking a tightrope. Business is slow but instead of cleaning and refilling bins, he is touching up his nails by the register.
    “I don’t know. I don’t like the double coat so much.” He just held out his hand, admiring the nail polish. Jennifer went by, saw him, and told him to check the bagels baking in the back, and not to get any Revlon on them.
    Prediction: Mark will be getting a burned bagel sticker next to his name on the schedule.
    Systems of pluses and minuses she uses is really asinine. Good service = cute little muffin sticker and nickname “muffin” all week. Mark would probably like that.

LATER. DUDE . . .
    Work deteriorated majorly after I wrote the above.
    Hate this job. Hate how it makes me spell everything wrong.
    “Jennifer?” I asked as I anti-bacterialized the slicer. “Why does bagel have to be spelled wrong in the store names? I mean, it would rhyme even if we spelled it right. It’s a homonym. You know, like um . . . time? And thyme, the herb?”
    She patted me on the shoulder. “I think we know what we’re doing, McCartney.”
    I had a name tag on. “It’s Courtney,” I said.
    “Oh my gosh, what was I thinking?” Jennifer laughed. “You remind me of this girl who used to work here, last year. Sorry ,” she said in this incredibly phony voice.
    Later on, Ben told me that McCartney was a really good friend of his. But she hated working at BF and she hated CF and she and Jennifer got into a huge fight. She quit and after freshman year she transferred to another school.
    “So do I remind you of McCartney? And were her parents Beatles freaks? I mean, did she have a brother named Lennon or Ringo?” I asked.
    Ben laughed. “Harrison