(Is it to keep whatever bacteria you’re playing with off the doorknob or to make sure you don’t contaminate your experiment?) ![]() It will take you five full minutes to pull on the covers for your shoes, the gloves, the hair net, and the thin plastic apron while your new supervisor watches, teaching you how to make sure the elastic is all the way around your shoes and making you promise you will never touch a doorknob with a gloved hand. ![]() You’ll never quite be sure whether the protective gear you have to wear when you enter the room with the cages is for your protection or that of the mice, with their delicate, scientifically coordinated immune systems. ![]() Your first time walking through the industrial hallways, you’ll pass doors guarding pigs and mice (you’ve heard that there are also primates somewhere in the underground labyrinth of hallways, but their location-and existence-was classified after a legion of animal rights activists in the 1970s engineered a plot to set them free). The animal labs are all several floors down, below the concrete and perfectly manicured grass squares. Step 1: Get an internship at the laboratory in the biology building at the center of campus. Your apartment is always spotless, and your hair is always professionally blown out. You will never get persnickety emails from your bank account, heavy with electronic red exclamation points, about overdraft fees and you will never, ever be sitting barefoot on your couch and feel a slight tickle and look down to see a cockroach the size of a baseball, all legs and hair-thin quivering antennae, crawling across your foot and disappearing beneath the oven before you have a chance to kill it, so you just have to know, forever, that that giant cockroach is living somewhere in your house, waiting to emerge, and it’s already gotten a taste for crawling across human flesh. Your apartment is inexplicably massive and your wardrobe is all designer blazers and statement jackets in bright colors, and even though they should all be covered in coffee all the time, on account of all the coffee you spill, they always look perfect. Being clumsy is your primary-and adorable-character trait. If the latter, you’ll be carrying a half dozen coffees that are spilling all over your cardigan, flitting around New York City in a pencil skirt and high heels. If the former, you’ll be wearing a headset microphone and carrying a clipboard, flitting around a control room in a pencil skirt and high heels. If you answered mostly AsĬongratulations! Your rom-com lady career is vaguely arts related, probably at a television studio or women’s magazine. I mean, yes, but you’re going to say no because even though it said she wasn’t hurt, this might turn out to be a trick question or something. You’re not proud of it, but what do you want me to say here?ī. Do you laugh? Please note here that she is actually completely uninjured. “I’m okay!” she croaks from the pavement. She slips like a cartoon character, tiny-heeled boots flung straight out in front of her so she’s fully horizontal above the ground before she falls. But not just “slip” the way most people use the word slip. On a winter day in the sixth grade, your same English teacher-a woman with a poodle poof of white hair, who wears floor-length skirts and a brooch at her neck like she’s onboard the Titanic-comes outside to shepherd you back in from recess when she slips on the ice. Draw a wolf with charcoal and place a poem you wrote and printed onto clear paper over the drawing for an effect that you truly think belongs in an art museum.ĥ. ![]() In sixth grade, you read The Call of the Wild and your English teacher has you create a project to represent the book. What was your favorite subject in school?ģ. Are you a left-brain thinker or a right-brain thinker?Ģ. This long-form personality quiz manages to combine humor with unflinching honesty as one young woman tries to find herself amid the many, many choices that your twenties have to offer. Part-memoir, part-VERY long personality test, Choose Your Own Disaster is a manifesto about the millennial experience and modern feminism and how the easy advice of “you can be anything you want!” is actually pretty fucking difficult when there are so many possible versions of yourself it seems like you could be.ĭana has no idea who she is, but at least she knows she’s a Carrie, a Ravenclaw, a Raphael, a Belle, a former emo kid, a Twitter addict, and a millennial just trying her best. Join Dana Schwartz on a journey revisiting all of the awful choices she made in her early twenties through the internet’s favorite method of self-knowledge: the quiz. A”hilarious and heartbreaking” (Jo Piazza) and unflinchingly honest memoir about one young woman’s terrible and life-changing decisions while hoping–and sometimes failing–to find herself, in the style of Never Have I Ever and Adulting.
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