As a college student, you ask yourself one main question: to eat or not to eat? This is the issue that I debated before deciding to quit my job.

I knew that my summer savings were dwindling; I knew that I had bills to pay, books to buy and vacations to plan.

So, why, you may ask, did I do it? If I explain what my actual job was, then you may understand.

I worked in a glorified pool hall — they called it a “gentleman’s club,” but we all know that it was only an expanded version of that little suburban dive where the owner lies on one of the pool tables and smokes all night.

I had to stand behind a desk — emphasis on stand — for eight hours at a time.

“Would you like that on your card?” I might as well have been saying, “Would you like fries with that?”

I gave out pool balls, I made change for the waitresses, I answered the questions of drunk men who couldn’t understand why they were being charged for 10 beers, when they couldn’t remember drinking the last one.

And all of this while wearing what I commonly referred to as a “little black dress.”

So get this in your head. I am five feet tall. The desk that hid my ugly grandma-like shoes reached up to about, oh, mid-torso on me. Tall men frequently looked down while speaking with me. Do you get the idea?

I consider myself an intelligent person with morals and standards. As unrealistic as it sounds, I wanted to be appreciated for my mind, not my body. I know, I know, I’m living in a fantasy world.

So I decided not to subject myself to this anymore and I put in my two weeks notice. And I stayed the full two weeks, all the while counting down the hours.

Then it was my last night, Halloween night. From 5:45 p.m., I counted the minutes until I could leave that wretched place.

And then it was 2 a.m. and my shift was over. I should have been happy, right? I left my dress on a chair in the office with a little note next to it, I cleaned up my desk area and then I had to say “good-bye.”

“Thanks,” my manager said as I was leaving. “You should come back and teach all the ‘desk girls’ to be as proficient as you.”

And then it happened. I cried. Not until I had thankfully closed myself into a cab, but I cried. Whether it was for my little black dress or the decision I had made or the money I was losing — I don’t know, but either way, I couldn’t stop myself.

So now I have more time to go shopping, I have more time to see my friends and go out to eat, but no money to do it with. But I was forced to make a choice between my sanity and my bank account, and I chose to starve.

Will I regret what I did? Probably. Will I go crawling back in six months after co-op is over and I am once again a broke college student? It’s possible. But either way, at least I learned what it is like to make a decision and stick with it (for the time being).

Something had to give — I am the news editor of the paper, a full-time student and I was working three to four nights a week in addition to this.

I am proud of myself, even if I do have to give up Cheez-its (my favorite thing!) for a while.

Maybe I will get to see what the O.C. is all about now.

— Stephanie Vosk is a sophomore journalism major and a member of The News Staff.