All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(11)

In college, I kept an online journal, and I typed furiously about my burgeoning drinking problem. Still, I got mostly Bs and some As. I could study and hold down a part-time job. I had a friend group that was full of smart, genuine people. I was responsible and showed up on time. But I often woke up drenched in sweat, paranoid about the things I did or said the night before, knowing I would just do it again the next weekend. Drinking, even when I was eighteen, started to guide my choices.

Still, I didn’t want my dad to worry about me, and I definitely didn’t want him to be disappointed. We wound up making a bet. The bet was really more of a bribe. He told me he would give me sixty dollars if I refrained from getting another piercing for one calendar year. I won the bet, begrudgingly. I needed the money.



* * *



—

On April 15, 2008, I finally turned twenty-one. My dad sent me a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a letter. Despite his misgivings about my drinking, he felt I deserved to enjoy some nice champagne. I never asked him why.

    Dolly, do you have an idea how much I adore you and think of you?

You are a fundamental joy of my life. Who you are and how you proceed brings me a sense of deep happiness I can’t express in words.

There is so much to like about who you are becoming that it makes a very long list but let me just flick at a few things.

You are beyond question cool

You are smart and getting smarter

You are afraid of very few things

You are increasingly kind

You care about the world

You knew who Obama was before others did

You have a magnificent taste in music and film and the ability to articulate your choices

You are a snot about culture, but not snotty

You are a Smith house fellow

You have matched wits with a meth head fry cook

You once had a nail sticking out of your face and were able to act like it was nothing

You are a good sister, daughter, and friend

You are beautiful and have inimitable style

You are very flexible when it comes to hair color

You love your dad and he loves you back

Roar, Fahja





8


    How (Not) to Intern



“Don’t be scared. Be very happy. This is the sound of yer life beginning. F.”



In 2009, no one in America was immune to the ongoing global financial crisis, including the Carr household. I knew I had to get a job to help pay my college tuition. This was nothing new—I’d worked since I was fifteen. There was, however, the issue of what the hell I was going to do exactly in the real world with the communication arts degree that I was working toward. Maybe it was time for a summer internship, preferably one that paid, as I needed to eat.

Little did I know my dad was plotting something to help me gain entrance into the workforce. Late one Saturday night he sent me this email:


Erin, you know what? screw the economy. I think we can get something rolling for you seeing as you demonstrated early and specific interest. and you should know that part of the reason that i can recommend you without hesitation is the big leap you took in terms of responsibility and skill set this year as an RA. you should be proud of what you have already accomplished.

I need a bright, breezily written couple graphs about you and your experience. worked since x years old, waited tables, bartended, daycare provider, and now assistant at campus media center and resident advisor…blah, blah, areas of study and interest, skills…html, vid stuff, computer, etc. self describe as earner, worker, low maintenance, high reward, highly adaptable, having lived and worked in a variety of environments and cities. from ordering food from meth head fry cook upstate to negotiating peace between cops and residents in madison…mebee not quite that colorful, but something like that.

and then statement of interests…all forms of pop culture, esp film, television and music. etc. and then say what you are looking for…internship…and what you are willing to do for it…basically anything. send that to me and I will start retailing it around on email to people who might be interested. and I want a current photo emailed under sep. cover.

let’s get this train rolling.

xo, fahja



He had a sizable Rolodex filled to the brim with people I read about regularly in my battered copies of Entertainment Weekly. He liked to name-drop, and I was one of the only people in our family who knew even the more obscure people he referred to, so he was always eager to jump on the phone with me and talk over the latest adventure or mishap on some red carpet and to dish about who was mean and who was nice—or at least nice-looking up close.

He’d requested a photo for the internship pitch, so I looked over the few I had at my disposal (this was before the ubiquity of the iPhone), taken recently on my cheap digital camera to celebrate the one time I’d achieved the perfect liquid line on my eye. It was an odd photo to send to your dad—or to a potential employer—a selfie before they were a thing. I’m seated on a couch; the top of my white T-shirt is somewhat in frame but it is mostly me glaring into the camera with my mouth slightly open and my eyes wide. My blond hair is swept to the side, late-aughts emo style, and I’m looking down into the camera. This is the photo I chose to say “Hey, give me a job! I’ll try not to be annoying!”