From the Vault: Chips and Juice

Previously unpublished essays from past writing workshops.

I’d like to thank the paid subscribers who think my writing might be worth paying for. As I ramp up my Substack, I want to create exclusive content for paid subscribers. Many of you have seen me and my writing grow, evolve, and (hopefully) become more polished and confident.

I’m pulling some older, previously unpublished essays just for you! I’ll admit to a little bit of editing since these are older and I’m a perfectionist. “Chips and Juice” is the first installment in my From the Vault series for paid subscribers. I wrote this in a Telling True Stories writing workshop many years ago. It’s sat in a folder since the class ended. I hope you enjoy some of my early essays and stories.

Thank you for supporting me!

Mel

Chips and Juice

Nothing could go right. My bag was overweight at check-in, so I had to carry my heavy jacket to avoid the overweight baggage charges. My flight got delayed multiple times, and my overpriced airport coffee was still too hot to drink. I trekked across the entire terminal due to a last-minute gate change. I worked too much and too hard, but nothing could go right.

I was a messy picture of adulthood as I arrived at my departure gate at New York's JFK airport. My slacks bunched at awkward places around my tightened belt, a tribute to the last two and a half weeks of unhealthy quantities of caffeine and random granola bars purchased at ungodly hours from Duane Reade pharmacies. The Big Apple chewed me up and spit me out every September, depleting not only my body's energy stores but also my spirit as a whole.

I worked at the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) in New York City. Every September, New York is full of motorcades, barricades, and countless NYPD officers as numerous prime ministers and presidents cram into the city for bilateral meetings and rehearsed speeches. The festivities are exhausting and stressful to those behind the scenes trying to make everything run smoothly and safely.

I was one of those people, a Secret Service agent assigned to a foreign dignitary while they were in the United States. Dignitaries and ambassadors swarmed around me each day. Still, I guarantee they didn't notice I inhaled oxygen in the same universe. While I know my work was important in the grand picture, and I am privileged to be where I am in my career, I leave New York City en route to Los Angeles in a state of crankiness.