It’s the summer of ‘99, and I have recently run the Big Three gamut of adulthood: a boy broke my heart, I moved out of my childhood home, and after two years of wasting time at a very pricey university, I changed my mind. I am now about a month into a summer job as a camp counselor four states away from home. I decided that I would hate this job about 12 hours after I started, but now I’m bound to an employment contract I’d never bothered to read closely…