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	<title>Generation Pandemic</title>
	<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com</link>
	<description>Generation Pandemic</description>
	<pubDate>Tue, 03 Oct 2023 20:55:49 +0000</pubDate>
	<generator>https://generationpandemicproject.com</generator>
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		<title>Homepage</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/Homepage</link>

		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Apr 2021 01:21:59 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

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GENERATION
PANDEMIC







 
	
	
︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎︎
	




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		<title>stories</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/stories</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 09 Aug 2021 19:08:31 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/stories</guid>

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		<title>Losing Lincoln College</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/Losing-Lincoln-College</link>

		<pubDate>Tue, 03 Oct 2023 20:55:49 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/Losing-Lincoln-College</guid>

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	Losing LincolnA story for The Kitchen Sisters and Washington Post




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Since the start of the pandemic, more than 90 colleges have merged or closed permanently. One of these schools, Lincoln College, closed its doors with only about one month’s notice in May of 2022 — after 157 years. Due to the pandemic and a ransomware attack, administrators say the school was unable to retain, recruit, or fundraise. Since then, students have been left scrambling and many have dropped out.

Lincoln College was a small private college in central Illinois — the only school named after Abraham Lincoln in his lifetime. But instead of attracting local students, the school drew many from three hours north: Chicago’s south and west sides. More than 40% were first generation college students and, even though the town is 95% white, the university was a Predominantly Black Institution. Students, alumni, and faculty described the community as deeply close-knit and, for many, a “second chance.” For some, it was also a refuge from gun violence.

After the sudden closure announcement, dozens of students confronted President David Gerlach expressing frustration and concern over what might happen to those who didn’t have a safe home to return to. It was the start of a fundraising predicament that drove a wedge between students’ grassroots efforts and administrators. How much money is enough to stay open? What’s at stake for Lincoln’s brittle economy? Over the course of a year and a half, we follow voices from across the community — professors, administrators, locals, and students dispersed across the Midwest. More than a year after closing, many continue to reel. The campus is still up for sale, but a new vision for Lincoln may soon be on the horizon.Kitchen Sisters Story (October 2023)
Washington Post Article and Video (November 2022)


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Produced between May 2022 and October 2023.

This project was made possible with support from the Sachs Program for Arts Innovation. Original soundtracks by Reed Rosenbluth. A special thank you to Pati and Danny Jinich for their endless support (and SUV), Deborah and Adam Strickberger for their lifelong role modeling, and for all those who helped along the way: Ron Keller, Tim Rivera, Ms. Linda, Aundrae Williams, Jaylah Bolden, Spencer Davis, David Gerlach, Scott Raper, Seth Goodman, Aaron Butler, David Upchurch, Julia Figueroa, Klaudia Blaszcyk, Dougie Barron, and the Rose family. One more big thank you to Nikki Silva and The Kitchen Sisters for their guidance and inspiration.
	


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	<item>
		<title>'Quitting is the first step.'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/Quitting-is-the-first-step</link>

		<pubDate>Mon, 05 Jun 2023 19:39:39 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/Quitting-is-the-first-step</guid>

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	‘Quitting is the first step.’The Lore of Julius BaDour





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In April of 2021, we interviewed Julius BaDour in Santa Fe, New Mexico. At 18, he lost his job, broke up with his girlfriend, and left behind all the ties that were keeping him in his hometown of Madison, Wisconsin. Exactly two years later, Alan gave him a call to catch up.

Note: This audio story was also produced for WHYY’s The Pulse.


Santa Fe, New MexicoInterview Dates: April 26, 2021 and April 26, 2023
	


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		<title>Of The Crowd</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/Of-The-Crowd</link>

		<pubDate>Tue, 06 Sep 2022 22:23:00 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/Of-The-Crowd</guid>

		<description>
	
	
	
	
	


	Of The CrowdA Generation Pandemic Audio Collage



	
	



    




Inspired by the aesthetics of 19th century poets like Poe and Mallarme, “Of The Crowd'' attempts to synthesize a collective voice from our archive. The audio collage layers dozens of narratives from new parents and first responders to musicians, wanderers, and even a capitol insurrectionist. This is not meant to be a comprehensive summary of Generation Pandemic. Rather, I hope it can be heard as an art experiment distilled from the archive. Headphones recommended!

Alan Jinich
Generation Pandemic Co-Creator


Interviews from Spring 2021
Published September 6, 2022

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	<item>
		<title>'I would get out tomorrow if I could.'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/I-would-get-out-tomorrow-if-I-could</link>

		<pubDate>Tue, 14 Dec 2021 22:05:58 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/I-would-get-out-tomorrow-if-I-could</guid>

		<description>
	
	
	
	
	


	‘I would get out tomorrow if I could.’Emily, 22 &#124; Rock Springs, WY





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Podcast Transcript
Note: Alan and Max are both featured as interviewers. To distinguish Alan’s voice in the original interview from his narration of the podcast, we marked Alan(N) while narrating.
____

Emily: They don't regard us as healthcare workers, you know? The fact that we have a drive-through, people think that they should be able to drop off their prescription and come back in five minutes and have it done. Like, again, this is not McDonald's. It's not Burger King, you know. But a lot of days like that's how it feels – like we're working in a fast food joint. And it's ridiculous, you know?

Alan(N): You’re listening to Emily, a 22 year old pharmacy technician who works in Rock Springs, Wyoming. Since the start of the pandemic, one in five healthcare workers have left their jobs. Emily may soon become one of them.
Emily: This year has like shown me like it is time to get out now. Like I'm done.
Alan(N): In this oral history, Emily reflects on her time as a pharmacy tech one year since the start of the pandemic. We’ll get a closer look into her life and learn about the chain of events that led to such debilitating conditions in this overlooked sector of healthcare.
Emily: And like, we are the first line… of healthcare I feel like. Again, you can come to us without an appointment, without paying a copay, and ask us whatever you need to know. I thought this was just gonna be a job where you push pills across the tray, you know, and it's not. There's more to it.

Alan: We’d love to hear.

(Transition)
Emily: My name is Emily. I work at Smith's pharmacy as a technician. So filling prescriptions, typing prescriptions, that sort of stuff.
Alan(N): We met Emily in May of 2021 inside of Smith’s Food and Drug, one of the biggest regional supermarkets in the Rockies. The pharmacy counter is a bit hidden. To reach it, you have to either walk into the corner of the grocery store or pull into the drive-through. Once you’re there, though, it’s easy to spot Emily. She wears glasses and has baby blue painted fingernails that match her disposable mask. Even though her mouth is covered, you get the feeling that she’s usually smiling. Her name tag is bold and ornamented, a stark contrast to the monochrome cabinets and mysteriously labeled bottles behind her. She’s enthusiastic about sharing her story, but has a busy schedule, so we meet the following night in a hotel lounge.

Emily: We say that Jackson isn't real Wyoming. It's beautiful up here. But this is not the true culture of Wyoming. The rest of Wyoming is like 10 years behind the times and they're really into their conspiracy theories.

In Rock Springs, even before the pandemic. I had a lady one time. I asked her if she'd gotten her flu shot yet for the year. This was like 2019. And she was like, “Well, I don't get flu shots because I'm worried about what the Russians are putting in them.” So like, even before COVID, the anti vaxxers are rampant down there. 
You see a lot of weird stuff in pharmacy like I had some old lady come in one time. And she had like, hit herself in the boob with a drill. And she like, pulled her muumuu up and was like, “Look at this, look at this bruise.” And I was like, “Put your stuff, like put it away!” Like, you're 70. I don't need to see that. And it was bad. Like it was purple and blue and stuff. You know, like, we see lots of weird stuff happen in pharmacy. So like, the conspiracies are kind of just like something you hear and you forget about because we have bigger issues to deal with.

Alan: Does it at all feel like a mental health hotline?

Emily: No, it definitely does in certain situations. We definitely deal with people in crisis a lot. I think it's definitely been more of a thing during the pandemic where people will just come down to the pharmacy just to talk. Or people will call and refill medication they don't actually need refilled just so they can come and pick it up and be like, “How are you?”, you know, and talk for a few minutes.
We used to have a woman named Sharon who... it was kind of a love-hate relationship. She passed away probably about six months ago. But she'd come down and she'd complain “There's no egg noodles in this store!” And, you know, like just complain about the weirdest stuff to the pharmacy, or she’d call and be like, “Who makes the best chocolate cake in town?” And we were like, “Sharon, we're not the phonebook. Like have you ever heard of Google?” One time she called and was telling me about how much she loved Obama and how scared she was about Trump. And she told me, like, her plans for when she died and where she wanted to be cremated and her ashes spread. Like, people call and talk about just the weirdest stuff with the pharmacy. Because yeah, it's just an avenue... It's one way to socialize in this world that they're afraid to socialize in now. I think especially our older people. They're afraid to go out. So they call us instead to talk.

Alan(N): As you can tell, pharmacy techs like Emily play many different roles, and at the beginning of the pandemic, there was a lot of gratitude for that. It didn’t last for long, though.

Emily: Like we had people buy us coffee, we had people buy us pizza one day. We had… one of the programs we work with that helps adults with special needs – They sent us flowers one day. We had a family come through the drive thru and they had all these signs that said, like, “Thank you pharmacy workers.” And that sort of stuff happened and that was really wonderful because… pharmacy is often forgotten as a part of health care. And so it was nice to see that appreciation for us as well as [for] the doctors and nurses in town. But that has died off since then. And yeah, now people are just back to being nasty and bitter and impatient. And again, like, I think that they're worse than they were before. 

People don't understand. I think there's definitely a disconnect. We had one lady come in one time. And she asked for Sudafed, and we didn't have any and she was like, “Well, why are you out?” And we were like, “Well, we got shorted in our last order. All of our drugs have been on backorder.” And she was like, “Well, why did they short you?” And so my manager comes around the corner and she's like, “Do you realize we're in the middle of a pandemic? Sudafed is gonna be the first thing to go off the shelves because it helps with congestion.”

I think people don't understand, like, medications don't just magically appear in your bottle. We have to order it from somewhere, like they come all the way from Arizona. If the roads are closed, they're not gonna get to you. If the factories are closed, they're not gonna get to you. If the factories are low on it, they're not gonna get to you.

Alan(N): Drug shortages became a major issue around the world, but that’s just one of many factors that burdened pharmacy workers.

Emily: Our RX count has gone way up in the last year and a half. A normal day before was about 400 prescriptions a day. Now it's pretty common to see 600 prescriptions a day. And now on top of all of that they’re expecting us to do the COVID vaccinations. And that is a huge stress on our pharmacy. So typically, we have two pharmacists. And then we have about six techs working to manage a load of 600 prescriptions a day. And now they're expecting us to do a COVID vaccination every 15 minutes. 

And that's been a really big issue, not just in our store, but all across America [are] these pharmacists that are just done because they're being overworked, underpaid. It becomes an issue of patient safety at this point. Like, you are being so bombarded from every side, right. Like phone calls from the doctor checking to see if this person has allergies, checking the 50 prescriptions that are in your queue, giving shots, counseling patients. All of these things are expected of them for no extra money with no extra help. 

You know, like there are some days that we go home and we're like, who did we kill today? Like, who did we give the wrong medication to? And I know like that's a terrible thing to say. But like I lay awake at night and worry about that sometimes because there's been like a couple times throughout the pandemic like on really busy days where if you don't have a pharmacist that is ON their stuff like is not TOTALLY focused that we've had mix ups. 

And we've had two prescriptions now that have been written for methylphenidate, which is ritalin – like a stimulant right? – an ADHD medication. And the technician typed it in for methadone, which is an opioid. So like complete opposites. If you're giving methadone to like a seven year old, it's gonna kill them. You know? And we've had two prescriptions that have been mis-typed like that and have almost gone out to the patient. Like we've only realized, as we were handing the bottles to the patient that it wasn't the right medication. So that's gone through two pharmacists, four technicians, and nobody caught it because we're that busy.

Max: You think that's particular this year? 

Emily: Yes, for sure.

And I know like the Walgreens in Rock Springs has one pharmacist right now. That's it. Like working seven days a week. There are stories of pharmacists coming out of places like CVS that have had heart attacks at work because they couldn't get anybody to cover their shifts. Like there was one a couple weeks ago that had a heart attack and died.

I'm a part of a few pharmacy activism groups on Facebook. And it's just like the stories that are coming out of there are very sad and very scary. 

Alan: Do you ever, like, dream about… You know, you're talking about how you have trouble sleeping at night because of these mistakes that you might make. Do you ever dream about it or anything like that?

Emily: Oh, yeah, I dream about the pharmacy all the time.

I had a dream one time that... it was right when COVID started. And we've definitely seen an uptick in like anti-anxiety, benzodiazepine medication. So lorazepam, Xanax, those sort of things. So I had a dream that we had the last stock bottle of Xanax in the entire country. And we were like hiding out in a school bus somewhere. And like me and two of the pharmacists had to decide who got Xanax and who didn't. So like people would come and be like, “I need it. Like I take it three times a day, I'm gonna go through withdrawals!” And we were like, “We don't have enough for you! I'm sorry. Like, we're saving this for so and so,” you know?

But yeah, it's definitely… Like, I feel if you don't have an established balance, it's a job that can take up your entire life and consume, like, everything that you are.

Max: Do you think it’s consumed everything that you are during the pandemic?
Emily: There was definitely a few months where I let it consume me. And there's days, even now, where you go home and you are so exhausted from your day – like a 12 hour shift on your feet, you get a 20 minute lunch. 

Max: A 20 minute lunch?

Emily: Yeah, yeah, we take 20 minutes in the back. Like I don't know, who came up with that plan for a 12 hour shift. That's not legal –

Max: An MBA came up with it – 

Emily: So yeah, yeah!

But after days like that, like you get home, you sit on the couch, and you do like... There were days that I could not even take my trash out because I was like I am done. Like this is all of the energy that I have had, and it's gone.

Alan: Do you feel like these experiences from the past year have changed your perspective on being a technician?
Emily: For sure.

Alan: Do you feel like you wanna continue that or has it changed?

Emily: Being a technician has always been a temporary career for me. I'm going to school to be a high school history teacher. But I [sighs]. This year has like shown me like it is time to get out now. Like I'm done.
This is not what I meant to do forever. I'm not passionate about pushing pills. Like I feel like a cog in the machine. I feel like I'm enabling the opioid crisis in our country. Like 90% of the issues we have in our country would be fixed if people would lose a few pounds and exercise every day and eat right. 
But people aren’t willing to do that. People want a pill to fix their issues. There's diet pills. Like, stimulants go out the door like nothing else. People take narcotics to forget and get high. Like, I just feel like… yeah, I feel like a cog in the machine. I feel like part of the problem. And that's not what I'm aiming to do. Like I want my life to be a legacy of helping people and being part of the solution. I think it's possible to do as a teacher, you know, but it's hard [Laughs].

And so I told my boss, like there was, there was a day, probably in November/December that I was like, I am this close to quitting. Like, I don't even know what I'm going to do. But I don't care at this point. I am done. Like, this is not... I can't deal with the abuse. I can't deal with being like... It's terrible on your body. I have plantar fasciitis and I'm 22. Like, that's not normal. I wear orthopedic shoes. You know? 

Anybody that wants to go into pharmacy, I tell them like really rethink your decision because this is not for you. I would get out tomorrow if I could, but again, I can't, you know? It's not worth it anymore. It's not worth the abuse. Because we put up with a lot. And $20 an hour isn't worth that. So…

Max: As a young person, I think that's so essential to learn about and then see…this is how COVID is impacting folks. This is how it’s potentially reshaping careers.
Emily: And I appreciate you guys giving me the platform to do so, you know? If you take anything away from this, it's like, treat your pharmacists nicely, treat your techs nicely. Like help out. If they tell you it's gonna be two hours be like, no problem, I will go get lunch and I will be back, you know? People… Yeah, like, this job, even before the pandemic, kind of made me lose my faith in humanity. But after the pandemic, like, I am more nihilistic than ever... about the world and about people and our ability to love and care for one another. Like when we're in crisis mode, people don't care. People don't care about anybody but themselves. So…
(Transition)
Alan(N): Emily’s oral history is part of a larger project called Generation Pandemic, which focuses on how the pandemic is shaping the lives of emerging adults in America. To read more stories like Emily’s please visit generationpandemicproject.com or follow the instagram page @generationpandemic_. Thanks for listening.




Jackson, WyomingInterview Date: May 4, 2021
	


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	<item>
		<title>'We were shut out from the outside world'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/We-were-shut-out-from-the-outside-world</link>

		<pubDate>Sat, 29 Jan 2022 00:21:39 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/We-were-shut-out-from-the-outside-world</guid>

		<description>



	‘We were shut out from the outside world.’Blake, 22 &#124; Baton Rouge, LA



&#60;img width="4661" height="3107" width_o="4661" height_o="3107" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6e1b2018933b89417b38c7552fb9065caa533d20cbac4a8363ffec221bc17948/DSCF1132.jpeg" data-mid="131812216" border="0" data-scale="69" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6e1b2018933b89417b38c7552fb9065caa533d20cbac4a8363ffec221bc17948/DSCF1132.jpeg" /&#62;
	
	We sat with Blake in the backyard of his single story brick home. It had rained the night before and we wiped down the white wrought iron chairs where we sat. It was early in the morning but the Louisiana sun rose as we spoke. "Y’all are from Maryland right? It's kind of like here — it gets hot in the summer.” Blake is polite and serious and is finishing his final semester at LSU. He speaks with a Southern drawl. 

“You know when you're little and everyone's like, ‘I want to be a truck driver,’ ‘I want to be an astronaut.’ Mine was ‘I want to be a pilot’ and it just stuck. It just never went away. So that's where I'm at. I want something that's gonna fill a purpose.”

____

You're outside, you're taking 50 or 60 pound bags, and you're holding them out in front of you. It's really hot, really humid, so you just start sweating. Your shoulders can't handle it and they have everybody lined up. One person messes up and they say go run and touch that. You run and touch it. You come back. You're running. Now you're dripping in sweat and it's all collecting. Usually it just falls off your face onto the floor, but now there's nowhere for it to fall so it collects in your mask. You sweat so much and breathe in; it’s like you’re being waterboarded by your own sweat. And now you're trying to figure out how to breathe as well as listen to all the commands. It’s just an absolute disaster. 
The sergeants were on us, like a hawk’s eye just fucking watching about COVID rules. Like you would go to adjust your mask to breathe and they're like, “Quit touching your fucking mask.” It was quick. Because of Covid, there were 30 people rather than 60 per squad, so it was one sergeant to 30 versus one to 60. And they’d switch off — whenever one couldn’t scream anymore, he’d run into the office and the next one would come out. It was just a constant cycle of them. Anything you do, they're screaming.

After an hour or two, you're required to go to the bathroom. With eight urinals and eight toilets for 60 people it’s like a can of sardines. And because of COVID, one group has to go in and separate and then the next group has to go in and separate. So it's a lot of waiting and then a lot of instructors screaming at people to not get close to each other and to move faster, pee faster. Like how am I going to pee faster? 

I went to college for one semester at LSU and had too much fun. I didn't fail but I was headed down that route. No school work getting done, just blacking out drinking — I was like, this is going nowhere fast, so I went to a Marine Corps recruiter. I talked to him one day and on that same day my mom called me and was like, have you ever thought about enlisting in the military? And I hadn’t told her, so I was like, it's probably meant to be. 
OCS (Officer Candidate School) tried their best to keep us safe. When we got there, we quarantined for two weeks in a room and then they kept us separated pretty much the whole time. Usually, whenever you're standing in formation you're right up on somebody. Your knees are touching the backs of somebody else's; Your nose is at the back of their head. You're hot, sweaty, smelly. Everybody's crammed. So a lot of the chaos is that you're right on somebody and they're making you move really fast. There’s no time to even breathe. But now with covid and with six feet between people, you wait, the next person goes, you wait — you're running in place and it takes away a lot of the stress. 

We did have one guy get sick. He ran a 101 fever and everyone was freaking out. He turned really red and had this rash all over his body. They quarantined him and tested him for COVID like 12 times. They gave three people trash bags and were like, “Throw all his stuff in here. I don't care what it is, anything that he touched, throw it in here.” They gave 10 or 12 people Lysol cans and we just started spraying. It was like a Lysol bomb. There was so much of it we had to leave the room. It was frightening because his last name started with a C and mine starts with a D, so he was like, three people down from me. I was like, oh shit. If this is real, I'm definitely close enough to get something.
 &#60;img width="3264" height="2301" width_o="3264" height_o="2301" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/385e874e134c690e2d7f4c8f081b56303b623ea573e6ca18b278c4d850ce287d/DSCF1144.jpg" data-mid="132643820" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/385e874e134c690e2d7f4c8f081b56303b623ea573e6ca18b278c4d850ce287d/DSCF1144.jpg" /&#62;
Blake holds up his Marine Corps training certificates.&#38;nbsp;
We were completely shut out from the outside world, so we had no idea what was going on. A lot of the talk was like, maybe it’ll be over when we get back, maybe the world will be normal. That was our saving grace getting us through, like, the world's gonna be good when we get out. We'll get home, get to go to the bars with all of our friends, do whatever we used to do. Like, this will kind of just be a blank spot in our memory. Then, probably four weeks in, we were training with our combat instructor and someone asked, “what's the outside world like right now?” And he said, “it's only gotten worse. Everything is shut down, there's thousands of people dying every day.” And we're like, shit. 
When I came home, my boss at Apple told me I was going to be working from home again. I was like, sorry, I can't do that. Working for Apple from home was the most detrimental thing for my mental health that I'd ever been through. Everybody is stressed out about COVID, and now their phone’s not working or now their computer’s not working or their iPad or their watch, whatever it may be, so they take it out on you when you're living through the same exact thing trying to help them. And you tell them, you're gonna have to wait seven to ten days to get your phone repaired. “I can't wait that long,” they say. Sometimes I just wanted to be like, what else are you doing? You're not going anywhere. 

I started taking calls in March and they just kept piling up. There weren't enough employees working from home, so it was call after call after call. The timer would tick down eight seconds and then you‘d get another call. Some days it would be like 20 calls. I remember one day I think I took eight calls, but each one was an hour long or more. Your mental health was just drained after every day. There was no differentiation from the start of one week into the next, they blurred. 

I remember talking to this woman in New York who couldn’t change her Apple ID password. I asked if she had access to a computer, and she said she didn’t, so I asked if there was a neighbor nearby that she could ask. She was like, “You must be crazy thinking I can just go knock on someone’s door. I don't know my damn neighbors! It's the middle of a pandemic and you're asking me to go to my neighbor’s!” I was like, whoa, whoa, I didn't know it was that big of a deal. 

In Louisiana I know all my neighbors, I know everybody on this street. Just the cultural differences were wild. This lady was pissed. It escalated into her saying, “I'm in New York City in the height of a pandemic and you don’t understand!” At the time, Louisiana had the highest deaths per capita. And I was like, “I get it. I promise you, I get it. We have just as many people dying, with one-third the population, people are dying here left and right.” She did not understand that I was going through the same thing she was. 

The New York lady‘s call almost ended in a screaming match between the two of us. It brought me to a point where I thought, I can either continue to be miserable or I can find a way to make this a good experience. In the military, if you yell at somebody, you know, “toughen up,” they’re gonna do it. But for Apple, you have to find a stern but compassionate way to resolve a conflict. I was like, if I just kill these people with kindness, if I hear them be happy, it might make my day a little better. And as I got better at that, it did.
I just started asking them, “How are you doing? How's your family? How are y'all handling this?” Even though we didn’t know each other, we're in different parts of the country, I started trying to make some kind of personal connection. They were like, “Wow, I didn't know an Apple employee would just ask me how my family is doing and make sure we're okay.” Or if they'd have some random question, like I started talking with one lady in Canada about hurricanes. She was like, “yeah, I've never been through a hurricane,” so I told her what it’s like to live through one, and she was super excited to hear about it. 

So just little things here and there is what made it a lot better. I started lighting a candle, opening the window, getting some sunlight. Candles — candles were the saving grace. A nice homey smell made me feel better. I've got two of them right now, cinnamon vanilla. One of them is almost empty, and I’ve got the next one on deck. When I'm stuck in my room all day, I'll light it up and just let the smell… the smell is really relaxing.
&#38;nbsp;

Baton Rouge, LouisianaInterview Date: April 19, 2021
	


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	<item>
		<title>'A huevo, de aquí soy.'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/A-huevo-de-aqui-soy</link>

		<pubDate>Wed, 11 Aug 2021 20:05:53 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/A-huevo-de-aqui-soy</guid>

		<description>



	‘A huevo, de aquí soy.’
[‘Hell yeah, this is where I belong.’]
Fernando, 21 &#124; Chicago, IL




&#60;img width="4896" height="3264" width_o="4896" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5965f19ba2979ab0a26d213d159541a222ce44c3d0a4e55a5c21967d076b8184/DSCF2908.JPG" data-mid="116227162" border="0" data-scale="68" src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5965f19ba2979ab0a26d213d159541a222ce44c3d0a4e55a5c21967d076b8184/DSCF2908.JPG" /&#62;
	
	We ran into Fernando while walking through the crowded streets of Chinatown. Within the sea of Chinese dialects, Alan recognized his Mexican accent and struck up a conversation in Spanish, which continued as Fernando sold fruit. “I turned 18, left my home in Jalisco, and came here to rent a room for $300, to make my own food, wash my own clothes, start my business 100% by myself. It was really hard, man, from having it all one day to entirely depending on yourself the next.” 
Though he mainly sells fruit, Fernando does a little bit of everything. “I love business, getting money in different ways: I buy cars from auctions and resell them, I shovel snow in the winter. In the afternoons I study for my GED because I want to get a real estate agent license. My dream is to open a marijuana dispensary. In my apartment, I have a mini greenhouse and I like to experiment. I go onto YouTube and get hooked watching up to two or three hours on how to germinate seeds, how to make them grow faster. From nothing, you start to learn on your own.”

Note: This interview was conducted in Spanish. Click here for an untranslated version.
____
I couldn’t sell fruit during the pandemic. I was depressed all alone in my apartment, you know? I’d lay in my bed and I just couldn’t... I couldn’t... I couldn’t. I’d wake up and instead of drinking a coke or a water, I’d drink a beer. And man, I can’t watch Netflix in bed for 15 hours. I can’t do it. The bed makes me itch. That’s why I wanted a puppy. Actually, the whole business started from that; I just wanted a puppy. 
It was a pain in the ass to bathe them. While I washed one, there’d be two others shitting all over who knows where in the apartment. The smell was the hardest part. I can hear a dog cry no problem, but the smell is a whole other thing. And I live in a studio. It’s a shitty room. So having nine puppies there was really uncomfortable. I love sneakers and one of the dogs ruined a pair of Nikes. I was like fuck – I paid like $220 for those Nikes. I got the dogs a special cage so their poop would fall underneath; otherwise they’d eat it. Puppies are very delicate. With the first five, one died and I had to take another to the hospital. 
Bulldog Frenchies were super expensive this year and I wasn’t gonna pay $3,000 for a dog, no way. So I started looking for them in Mexico and they cost like $1,000. So I said, if over there they cost $1,000 and here they cost $3,000, there’s a business here. So once a month, I’d drive 32 hours all the way to Jalisco, buy a whole litter of pups, and bring them to Chicago to resell them. I made like 20k with those dogs just by looking for the demand. My parents are proud which makes me happy. In fact, my dad got into some dog groups online and now we sell together.

 
&#60;img width="1170" height="1665" width_o="1170" height_o="1665" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/6857a3df40d9b6ec02c745377ec21ecfa7fc5ae286a2b0d4a8e41dadd6938b9f/IMG_4479.JPG" data-mid="121239459" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/6857a3df40d9b6ec02c745377ec21ecfa7fc5ae286a2b0d4a8e41dadd6938b9f/IMG_4479.JPG" /&#62;
Fernando’s Bulldog Frenchie
I think I’m one of the only Mexicans that sells produce in Chinatown, but I actually started out selling in the Mexican part of town. People there would get really envious of each other's customers. One day, the owners of a supermarket came with baseball bats and poured gasoline all over my truck, my fruit, everything. They said “If you don’t leave in 10 minutes we’re gonna light up your truck.” Luckily there was a couple buying from me and one of the owners spilled gasoline on one of their bags. The guy made a huge fuss and two minutes later there were like 40 cop cars around us. One of the policemen told me, “You know how much your life is worth here? If they want they can pay someone $50 and tomorrow they’ll put a bullet in your head. Better find another area.” That’s why I moved here, to Chinatown. 
Mia and Li work with me and help out a lot. They’re both Chinese and speak to me in Chinese all the time. When they do, I have no idea how to respond. [Laughs.] So I’d start speaking to them in Spanish. Like, if you don’t speak to me in a language that I can understand, I’m also gonna speak to you in a language that you don’t understand. They call me Michael because they can’t pronounce Fernando. [Laughs.] I would fight with them because of that at first. I’d say “I’m not Michael, my name is Fernando.” And they’d say “No, Fernando no good. Michael good.” And now a lot of clients call me “Hey Michael!” What can I do? I tell them to call me whatever they want.



Fernando, aka Michael, shows Li how to say “cafecito”, Spanish slang for coffee.
Last year, I couldn’t sell anything here because of COVID. Normally I wake up every day at 3:00AM to go pick my produce in the bodegas and I stay busy the whole day. But since I didn’t have that, I became unhinged in an ugly, ugly way. I had to find something else to pass the time. 

I’d drink a bottle at any time of the day every day. Tequila, vodka, a twelve pack of beers minimum. I felt different, I felt older, more worn out. I even kept at it this year. And I’m telling you, in Mexico I’d call a cousin, an uncle, or a friend if I felt alone. All my closest friends are there. I’ve known those guys since elementary school. But not here. I didn’t go to school here. I don’t have my family’s support here. So who do I know? Tell me, what friends can I have? The truth is I only know like ten people here and they’re all older; people in their 40s, 50s, 60s, people like Mia and Li. 
I got to the point where I thought about returning to Mexico because of the isolation. But Mexico is very, very different. Over there, you make 1,500 pesos a week. That’s $75 per week working like a dog if you’re not a professional or business owner. And here, with my fruit business, I make a lot more money. I did well because I was here and so I got into the mindset where I’d do everything in excess: alcohol in excess, marijuana in excess, cocaine in excess. Can you imagine the type of person I became? It turned ugly, ugly, ugly. 
I kept drinking, more than anything because I stayed in the US. No one sees you here, no one says anything. There’s no one to tell you, “Man, you’re fucking up.” When I visited my family in Mexico, my mom threatened to throw me in rehab. My dad also likes to drink and so she’d say, “If you don’t calm down, I’m putting you both in the same room in the anexo (rehab).” But I would just come back to the US and no one could say anything as I continued to live my alcoholic life. They couldn’t see the reality of who I was. 

In December, things really fell apart. I overdosed at this huge party from all kinds of drugs and almost went to the hospital. I was in bed for two days. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t feel my lungs from the pain. From that day on, I never went back. I’m a different person now. 
Since April 1st, I’ve left two beers in my fridge and filled the rest of the space with water bottles. At night I’d get anxiety from not drinking. I’d walk over and see those two beers surrounded by water bottles and I’d remember, “Man, don’t drink. Don’t drink.” That was my technique to stop drinking. Without that, I’d wake up in the early morning, unconsciously open the beer, and drink it. I felt like I was killing myself staring at those two beers but...aaaaa, you have to catch yourself. 

Supposedly, I wasn't gonna be able to sell fruit in 2021, but here I am. I was eager to start selling again. I started up at the beginning of March once it finally got nice outside. That first day I got nervous because it had been more than a year since I had been here. I thought to myself, what if I show up to Chinatown and I’m completely alone? My produce was all gone in like two hours. Gone, gone, gone. That’s when I knew, hell yeah, this is where I belong. 


&#60;img width="3264" height="4896" width_o="3264" height_o="4896" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/858ee6db90665d0ef4df6f7cda043a90c12f94c99cead70835f24434e60f4374/DSCF2915.jpg" data-mid="116246533" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/858ee6db90665d0ef4df6f7cda043a90c12f94c99cead70835f24434e60f4374/DSCF2915.jpg" /&#62;
Fernando sells fruit out of his truck in Chinatown.

Translated by Alan Jinich
Chicago, IllinoisInterview Date: May 11, 2021



	
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	<item>
		<title>'You never get that smell off your clothes.'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/You-never-get-that-smell-off-your-clothes</link>

		<pubDate>Thu, 22 Jul 2021 03:30:33 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

		<guid isPermaLink="true">https://generationpandemicproject.com/You-never-get-that-smell-off-your-clothes</guid>

		<description>


	

	

‘You never get that smell off your clothes.’Jesus, 24 &#124; El Paso, TX

	

	
	&#60;img width="6240" height="4160" width_o="6240" height_o="4160" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/18fe4c9d966cde6c309192ddda133bedbff440092cd52819997c10cfad031c13/DSCF5203.jpg" data-mid="114378496" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/18fe4c9d966cde6c309192ddda133bedbff440092cd52819997c10cfad031c13/DSCF5203.jpg" /&#62;
Jesus immigrated to El Paso from Chihuahua City when he was ten years old. “You know, it was in 2005. And it was kind of the first wave of violence down in Mexico. And my dad lost his job. A lot of people here are from Chihuahua. It’s a lot safer here.” He’s been sorting cattle around the US-Mexico border since dropping out of college. “I went to work for a Mexican cattle broker. So he just buys cattle imported to the United States from Mexico. I started off just pushing cattle and then started moving up. Now I’m the manager there at the pens.” 
He goes by ‘Chuy’ around his friends and coworkers. “I’m the youngest one at the pens. That can be a problem if you make it one, you know? People just see you’re young and sometimes they don’t respect you, but it’s only if you let it happen.” 
Due to pandemic closures of processing plants and drought, Jesus and his older coworker Toño became overburdened by work in the winter. 
Note: These interviews with Jesus and Toño were conducted separately over the course of several days in English and Spanish. Translations are in brackets.&#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp; &#38;nbsp;
____Jesus: I knew this is what I wanted to do all my life. I like that I get to wake up every morning and I don’t have to go to an office to punch the clock, put my eight hours in and leave. I get to go outside, get to the pens. I get to be around cattle. I mean, some people hate it. Some people have no idea what it’s like, they don’t even know the smell. [Laughs.] The cattle business changes every day because it’s not a product, you know, it’s an actual animal. They’re living creatures and we’re supposed to take care of them. It’s like having 1,000 pets. I think that’s something to take a lot of pride in. We get to see where our food comes from.
I was real thankful that we continued going to work because I’m an essential worker, you know, because of agriculture. This winter we were operating over capacity by almost 100% because we couldn’t sell the cattle, plus the price of alfalfa, hay, everything has been real high because there’s no water. A bunch of people are pumping their wells dry. So we had extra work, but we weren't resentful because we all enjoy our job. We didn’t have cuts in pay or anything. We were really blessed to just keep going.


&#60;img width="6163" height="4109" width_o="6163" height_o="4109" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/652c76bc554a05a03652d4d5acd691ded652e3748eb45455e9c0d3a463c9623f/DSCF5149-1.jpg" data-mid="114378501" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/652c76bc554a05a03652d4d5acd691ded652e3748eb45455e9c0d3a463c9623f/DSCF5149-1.jpg" /&#62;Cattle cross the US-Mexico border wall at the Santa Teresa crossing in southern New Mexico.

&#60;img width="4896" height="3264" width_o="4896" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8eb36ac86184dae105146a84604389a9a67ab63e042ac8626fb016760c9bc8fb/DSCF8434.jpg" data-mid="114378497" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8eb36ac86184dae105146a84604389a9a67ab63e042ac8626fb016760c9bc8fb/DSCF8434.jpg" /&#62;
Toño watches cattle cross the border.


	

	
	
Toño: Este año tuvimos más trabajo que los otros años. Una cosa fue la pandemia y otra cosa fue la sequía. Fueron dos variables muy fuertes. Por la sequía, muchos no tuvieron manera de alimentar su ganado. La gente se tenía que deshacer de los animales. Y por la pandemia, se hizo más difícil vender los animales y se acumularon. 
Es que... la compraventa del ganado Mexicano se rige desde las plantas procesadoras. A la ora que la pandemia te cierra plantas procesadoras, te cierra supermercados, te cierra muchas cosas, y se va mucho la cadenita hacia atrás. La planta procesadora ya no le está comprando a la engorda. La engorda ya no le compra a los compradores de la frontera. Los compradores de la frontera ya no le compran al productor Mexicano. Empieza a haber muy poca manera de mover el ganado. Ganaderos no tienen donde ponerlos, donde moverlos, a quien venderle. Ni nosotros como compradores. No podemos hacer corrales y corrales viendo a ver cuando se va vender. Por eso estamos sobre capacidad. El supermercado es el único que gana porque tiene la capacidad para guardar todo ese producto empaquetado en congeladores hasta que se abra otra vez el mercado.
Vi a los demás con muchísima presión. A Jesus le toco mucho más tiempo trabajando.
	Toño: [This year we had a lot more work than other years. One reason was the pandemic and the other was the drought. They were two really strong variables. Because of the drought, many didn’t have a way to feed their cattle. People had to get rid of their animals. And because of the pandemic, it was harder to sell the animals and they accumulated.]
[You see, Mexican cattle trading is dependent on the processing plants. As soon as the pandemic closes processing plants, it closes supermarkets, it closes a lot of things, and the chain starts to run back. The processing plant no longer buys from the feedyard. The feedyard no longer buys from brokers at the border. The brokers at the border no longer buy from the Mexican producers. There start to be very few ways to move the cattle. Ranchers have nowhere to put them, nowhere to move them, no one to sell to. And neither do we as brokers. We can’t just build more and more corrals waiting to see when the cows will sell. That’s why we’re over capacity. The supermarket is the only one who wins because they have the capacity to store all that packaged product in freezers until the market opens up again.]
[I saw everyone with a lot of pressure on them. Jesus had to spend much more time working.] 

	

	
	

&#60;img width="6240" height="4160" width_o="6240" height_o="4160" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5a9b4ae4be9bb8c8e877f3bb4f4c136abc58219650899eb2ac70a98fa32694ac/DSCF5289.jpg" data-mid="114378498" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5a9b4ae4be9bb8c8e877f3bb4f4c136abc58219650899eb2ac70a98fa32694ac/DSCF5289.jpg" /&#62;A manager keeps count of Mexican livestock imports. 2,000-5,000 cattle cross into the facility every day.

Jesus: Tuve un día muy cabrón güey. [I had a really brutal day, dude].
It was probably December or January so it was cold, man. And we got cattle in from Douglas and Presidio, about 10 trucks. That’s like 1,200 or 1,300 head total. On a normal day we probably get like four or five trucks, but we don’t process all of them. That’s the difference. Like we might sort two or three trucks, you know, but on this day we had like 10 or 11. I can’t even remember. I knew the day before that we were going to be receiving a lot of trucks to sort, but I didn’t know that we were going to process them all and ship them out that same day.
To process cattle, you gotta brand, tag, dehorn, and vaccinate. I started off branding and then we switched off because there was a lot of cattle, man. We had to be rotating all the time. So you’re branding and you got all the smoke in your face, all the hair burning and everything. Like if you’ve ever burnt yourself? That’s what it smells like. I probably went through like 500 steers. I was getting dizzy from all the smoke. And if you’re pushing cattle through the chute you’re yelling all the time. If you’re putting in vaccines, your hands start cramping up. You start getting tired of that. You just gotta switch, you gotta rotate. 
We had been working all day, since seven in the morning, and we were so tired. Then at night it got cold, like in the 20s, and it started raining sleet. We were all wet. The hot shot, which is like a taser we use to shock the cattle so they start moving, that thing got all wet and it started shocking our hands. So we started taking turns because we couldn’t take it that long. 
We finished processing at like 11:30 at night and didn’t finish loading the trucks until 1:30 in the morning. By the time you get home, you take your clothes off, you get in the shower. The bathroom stinks. It’s like you processed all the head in your bathroom. You never get that smell off your clothes. My wife already knows; she’s used to it. Plus you’re all covered in blood from cutting up horns and everything gets dirty. 
At the end of the day, you’re glad you got that job done. But you still gotta be back at the pens at 7:30 in the morning, ready for the next day.

    

A snowy day at the pens in Anthony, NM where Jesus and Toño work. Video courtesy of Toño Marquezhoyos.&#38;nbsp;Toño: Jesus is the youngest one at the pens. In the old times I think it was more easy to find young people to work in the cattle business, but not now. The new young people is very lazy. They got a lot of variance to choose in the city. They got a lot of things they can do in the shade instead of being outside.
	


	
	La generación de Jesus, o Jesus en sí, está respondiendo de manera diferente a la pandemia porque se acaba de casar; acaba de tener otro compromiso. Antes de tener un compromiso de ese tamaño, de formar una familia, tu mente no es la misma. Tu mente es más ególatra, buscas tu propio bienestar. Ahorita no puedes buscar tu propio bienestar porque tienes a quien depende de tí. Ahora tienes que ser protector, tienes que ser proveedor, tienes que ser una figura de que es lo que quieres dejar, que es lo que quieres transmitir a tu gente, tu familia.
Jesus está en la transición de ese cambio. Ahorita como no le han soltado muy bien la rienda los papás ni los suegros todavía los tienen muy pegados. No se ha dado cuenta lo que es estar solo. Cuando se te acaban los papás, allí es cuando realmente dices “Caray estoy solo. Ahora si tengo que valerme por mí mismo. Ya no hay quien me ponga la teta.” Eso es lo más duro. 

	[Jesus’s generation, or rather Jesus himself, is responding differently to the pandemic because he just got married; he just made another commitment. Before making a commitment of that size, before forming a family, your mind is not the same. You’re egotistical, you seek your own well-being. Now you can’t seek your own well-being because you have someone who’s dependent on you. Now you have to be the protector, you have to be the provider. You have to be a figure of what you want to leave behind, what you want to pass down to your people, your family.]
[Jesus is in the transition of this change. Right now, since his parents haven’t really let go of their rein, nor his in-laws; they still have him really close. He hasn’t realized what it is to be alone. When you lose your parents, that's when you really say “Wow, I’m alone. Now I have to fend for myself. There’s no one to give me the tit.” That’s the hardest thing.]

	

	
	&#60;img width="4896" height="3264" width_o="4896" height_o="3264" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/3a41e4b3471bde2ccb034e9f33e01ef9b85db464eed3471ee85a13bd2e1f3c1e/DSCF8788-2.jpg" data-mid="114378500" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/3a41e4b3471bde2ccb034e9f33e01ef9b85db464eed3471ee85a13bd2e1f3c1e/DSCF8788-2.jpg" /&#62;
Toño (right) and Jesus (left) take a break from driving on their way to Del Rio, TX.

Jesus: I got married in August of 2019 and I have a baby girl. She’s gonna be ten months old. Her name’s Ana Lucia. All through the pregnancy, since the pandemic was going on, my wife wasn’t able to get her mom or her sisters involved in helping out. So we learned a lot and I think it helped us grow in our marriage. 
For the birth of my daughter, it was just me and my wife in the hospital. If I saw it through someone else’s eyes, we probably looked like kids, like deer in the headlights, you know? We were just a couple kids not knowing what’s going on and…. I mean, we made it. People always find it weird that we’re so young and married and have a kid. The thing is people nowadays are not even getting married until they’re like 30. Fewer are having kids.
The hardest part about being a parent is balancing work and life, work and family. Sometimes… not sometimes. You always got to work, you know? There’s no other way around it. You’re just working for money, so if you work more, you get more money… and if you do a good job, you get recognized for it. You just need to know when enough is enough. I’m getting to it. At some point, you just gotta realize I wanna see my baby girl. I wanna see my baby take her first step.

&#60;img width="4685" height="3123" width_o="4685" height_o="3123" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/5e0ff45c30809be06b478efc51d017fd89a097ba1611d0940161bad150694173/DSCF8423.jpg" data-mid="114378499" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/5e0ff45c30809be06b478efc51d017fd89a097ba1611d0940161bad150694173/DSCF8423.jpg" /&#62;
Translated by Alan JinichEl Paso, TexasInterview Date: May 25-29, 2021


	


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		<title>'We would just get up and go.'</title>
				
		<link>https://generationpandemicproject.com/We-would-just-get-up-and-go</link>

		<pubDate>Thu, 12 Aug 2021 20:24:19 +0000</pubDate>

		<dc:creator>Generation Pandemic</dc:creator>

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	‘We would just get up and go.’Shay, 26 &#124; New Orleans, LA




	
	&#60;img width="5907" height="3938" width_o="5907" height_o="3938" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/d7c6b45de34e1615771f89599e760ad2d681b379358d64ed9345b8b7eae9c48a/DSCF0796.jpg" data-mid="120821669" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/d7c6b45de34e1615771f89599e760ad2d681b379358d64ed9345b8b7eae9c48a/DSCF0796.jpg" /&#62;
Shay moved to New Orleans four days before we met her. When her Virginia-based insurance company turned remote, she took her job as an HR data analyst 1,000 miles away. Her neighborhood is filled with colorful, bungalow-style homes that span the shades of the rainbow. Her home’s exterior is plain — brick with a mustard yellow door — but the inside is vibrant. She has a bright red couch, above which rests a mounted moose head, a patterned neon poster, and a maroon arrow with glowing light bulbs around the edges. A pink hammer sits on the back of the couch for artwork she has yet to hang in her new home. 

We sit on Shay’s front steps; she’s barefoot and rarely stops smiling. She sometimes refers to herself in the third person as “Shay Shay.” When a Great Dane-Dalmatian Mix passes she bends down and kisses its nose. "Man, it's been a wild life. People say, “Shay, you’re only 26!” I’m like, only? That’s it? I feel like I’ve been here for centuries.”
 ____
The pandemic put bulimia in my face. Every meal, my Uber Eats bill was just… I think I supported the entire business. I’m serious. Chick-fil-A was my lethal weapon. One night I ate a spicy chicken sandwich, fries, eight chicken nuggets, and I just stuffed it all down. I was in the worst pain of my life. I was convinced I was gonna die. I went to sleep in my earrings and my bra; I got my hair all fixed up, put on a little dress. I thought, “You’re gonna be dead, gotta at least look good.” 

I woke up the next day and was like, “Shayla, you have to stop. You literally have to stop or you will die.” I had to look myself in the mirror: “Shay Shay, you have a problem, baby. And you need to fix it.” A month after that, I moved to New Orleans. 

I’m the type of person who’s looked at as an emotional support system. But during the pandemic, I couldn't hide behind other people’s problems. Instead of watching everybody else I watched myself. For the first time, I had to emotionally support Shay. The pandemic allowed me to deal with all the pain of my childhood.
My mom is stricken with mental illness and she didn’t know how to handle life. She couldn’t keep a job and had a criminal background. “Do you have a felony? Yes or no?” That’s part of the job application. It's like she was always beat down by the system. My mom just felt stuck. Her “fixing it” was moving around. She had two famous words: let's go. 

There were times in my life when it was three o'clock in the morning… oh my god, just dropping everything. All four years of high school, I lived in a shelter. If not in a shelter, then homeless. At one point I told my story to someone in college and she said, “Shayla, you realize you've moved over 40 times?” I was like, “What?” I never counted — we never counted. We would just get up and go, get up and go. 

My mom's favorite line to use was “I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance.” So for a while, when people would express their adorations for me, or love me, I would run away. That was my number one thing to do: run away. I always thought that everyone was lying when they told me that they loved me. I don't like expelling my anger or pain on others. I kept it in. You can't be weak out in the street. Crying’s a sign of weakness, they tell you. I developed ulcers in my childhood because I internalized so much stress. 
I didn’t know what to do with my pain. I’d just eat stuff… eat enough and you don't have to feel anything. It's like you’re burying something, right? So food was that covering. I was just looking for dopamine wherever I could get it. The pandemic was the first time where I was like Shay, it’s okay to accept love from people. Not everyone’s a liar. It's important to emotionally process. And it's like, “Shay, I love you.” I call it the “panoramic” instead of calling it the pandemic because it gave me a full perspective on myself.  
 

&#60;img width="6179" height="4119" width_o="6179" height_o="4119" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/9842bc887cd2e232f235a1abadee6d2181b411d288cae9f88c4b4c3ee9855f06/DSCF0774.jpg" data-mid="120821668" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/9842bc887cd2e232f235a1abadee6d2181b411d288cae9f88c4b4c3ee9855f06/DSCF0774.jpg" /&#62;
A map of Virginia, Shay’s homestate, hangs in her living room.

Moving is the first time I did something for me. Ever since then, I recognize when I don't want to eat. And I don't look to food. It’s the peace I’ve been searching for. I realized we are all joy generators, you just got to look hard enough.

I decided to move after our HR office sent out a survey testing how comfortable employees were with returning to the office: 52% wanted to remain at home. I called my boss the same day we got the survey back. I told her that I wanted to work remotely permanently and that I was moving to New Orleans. I figured I'd get the jump start on the crowd. I was like, I'm young. I don’t have any children. Why don't I go remote? So I put in the steps to relocate, claim my spot. And a few weeks later, here we are. Today is Sunday. I moved here Wednesday night. I gave most people three weeks’ notice that I was leaving. Some don't even realize I've left yet.&#38;nbsp; 

Most of my friends back home called me crazy, impulsive. “Shayla, you don't know anyone out there. What do you mean you're moving?” [Laughs.] They were like, “You’re being impulsive.” I was like, “Oh, you don't know impulsive. I can show you impulsive.” This was thought out. This was financially considered, you know? 

My favorite part about moving here is the colorful houses and the smell of rain. I love rain, the way it melts into you. The people from here are so homey. Everyone I’ve interacted with has treated me as if they’ve been waiting to see me their entire lives. They say, “Welcome home, baby.” That’s been everyone’s response, “Welcome home, baby.” I’m like, oh my god — thank you! Thank you. A lot. A… lot. I guess I am home. Not forever. But for now.

You hear that? [“When the Saints Go Marching In” plays in the distance]. I love that too. There’s live music everywhere. That girl’s carrying a freaking trombone. Ain’t nothing like music. [She hums]. 
 

&#60;img width="5970" height="3980" width_o="5970" height_o="3980" data-src="https://freight.cargo.site/t/original/i/8119824a1c0dc1872cc9c2dfb836ac05f4c24eec4282d9f5e0bd72e18dbd0985/DSCF0841.jpg" data-mid="116347202" border="0"  src="https://freight.cargo.site/w/1000/i/8119824a1c0dc1872cc9c2dfb836ac05f4c24eec4282d9f5e0bd72e18dbd0985/DSCF0841.jpg" /&#62;

New Orleans, LouisianaInterview Date: April 18, 2021
	


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