Trashed: A Newspaper’s Personal Struggle

The first thing I remember was waking up in the darkness of a printing factory.  Squeezed in-between hundreds of other newspapers, I felt violated. Don’t even get me started on the fact that this should have been a rights violation, but the weight pressing down on my chest was wrinkling my paper… and bringing on a raging episode of claustrophobia.

Today is the second day of shipment  and I already feel like I’m on the seventh minute of “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake. It seems like it’ll go on forever.

The day has finally arrived- several hours late. Preparations are rushed, and after I was assaulted by hands, separating stacks for distribution, (“Oh god don’t grab there”), I was brought to the Quad. Students rushed around, trying to find their friends, and occasionally avoiding all-too-zealous Mirador Staffers as they tried to shove newspapers into their hands. I sat at the bottom of the stack, mentally preparing myself for my starring moment.

Guys, you know that horrific moment when you finally ask out that girl you’ve liked since the beginning of freshman year, and she heartlessly shoots you down in about 2.1 seconds? Well, try reliving that, over and over again. I was offered to three different people, in the space of about 30 seconds, until someone finally accepted me.

Though I was insulted, and frankly, had taken a hit to my confidence, I was ready for my pages to be read by someone special. Unfortunately, the world had decided to choose this moment to repay my karmic debts. My criminal-of-an-owner…littered. Any scenario where I’m referred to as “trash” has never been ok with me. I mean sure, I’ve faced the same struggles with this derogatory term as anyone else, but it still hurt. I’m now left, debating my next move. “All by Myself” runs through my head on a loop, and I’m left feeling nostalgia for the days in the stack.

These days, I go where the wind takes me, never stopping to rest, never arriving at the end, nor the beginning. The Issues that have always surrounded me, for as long as I remember are nowhere to be seen. I am…a newspaper.