I'm sick. I have a disgusting cold, I'm lightheaded, and I can't think through the cloud of sinus medicine. This means I'm getting more done at work than usual, because I can't remember the names of the internet sites I usually surf. It also means I didn't go to the gym tonight, because I don't want to pass out on the treadmill. I've had the enchanting experience of fainting in public, and it wasn't quite as romantic as I always imagined it would be.

I was 19 and living in Miami, in an attempt to be closer to my boyfriend, Justin. I rented a room in the house of an old woman and didn't have much money left for food or anything else. Without Spanish language skills I couldn't get a job until I finally broke down and went to Subway. Three years of experience balanced out my monolinguist status and they agreed to take me on part time. Naturally, the only hours they had for me were the hours I was supposed to attend classes at Miami-Dade Community College. So I quit school and worked as much as they would let me, which wasn't enough to get by.

I ran out of food one weekend while Justin was away visiting his mom. I had to go to work on Sunday, so I checked the weekend bus schedule and went out early to wait at the bus stop. The bus never came. I waited for half an hour, then walked to the next stop, and the bus had not arrived there, either. I kept walking, all the way to work, and arrived three hours late, sunburned, at which point the manager tried to fire me. I burst out crying and explained to him about the bus and three hours walking and being sunburned, and he relented, especially since it was really busy and he needed me to help wait on customers. He said I was lucky I cried because it was the only reason he believed me.

I waited on customers for an hour or so, a non-stop line. The manager would cut the bread and tell me what to put on it, translating for the customers who didn't speak English. I passed every finished sub to the cashier and moved on to the next. I was good and fast, as anyone would be with as much experience.

Eventually the edges of my vision began to blur and all the voices seemed to get further and further away. I looked up at the customer in front of me, who was repeating herself for the third time while I just stared at her sandwich. It was like I saw her at the end of a dark tunnel. I put my hand up and tried to say "just a minute" but my tongue felt too thick. I fell to my knees, then slowly sat down, and would have lain prostrate on the floor if my coworkers hadn't caught me and carried me to the back room. I came back to myself rather quickly, once I was off my feet.

They gave me water, and when I told them I didn't have any food or money, the manager made a sandwich for me. After that I was good to work the rest of my shift, and I ended up staying until closing so that I could get a ride home. I preferred being there to being in my rented room, and the manager generously said he would pay me if I wanted to stay and help the closer.

The closer who offered to drive me home was the only other non-hispanic worker at this store, a nice, long-haired boy named Alex. We had a lot of time by ourselves and talked for the entire five hours. He was trying to move out of his parents' house and rent an apartment with his friends, but some of his friends were flaking out about it. We talked about how cool it would be if I could be a roommate, but I knew deep down that I could never pay my share for a place in that city until I learned Spanish. Alex tried to teach me a little that night, but I've never been a quick study for languages.

Soon after that I left Miami and tried Ft. Lauderdale for a couple of months. It was a lot better, but I still wasn't getting anywhere and I wasn't seeing my boyfriend much more than when I lived 11 hours away. I gave up in November and went back to my mom Thanksgiving day.