I drank so much in college, I flunked out my junior year, but by then I’d somehow wangled a paper-pushing job at the company my roommate’s father worked for, Carson Construction. My roommate’s father had a million-watt smile that could defuse the worst situation; I never smiled, due to my crooked teeth that looked like falling dominoes. Saving money for braces would have helped (Carson didn’t offer dental insurance), but self-medicating, so to speak, made me popular. Then I resigned because I felt confident I’d learned enough to succeed somewhere better, even with lousy teeth. Ha. Straight teeth rule.
Copyright © 2015 by David V. Matthews