I thought I would get an internship: one that looked good on a résumé, one that paid well. None of the plans I had made in my head involved strapping on a fanny pack every morning and selling beads for nine hours. Bees? No, beads.
It wasn’t the first summer I had donned the fanny pack. I had first started peddling beads in Santa Fe the summer before my senior year of high school, and I wasn’t keen on returning to it. Friends reminded me that it could be worse.
