In December, I finished college. I took my last final exam. I wrote a twenty page paper about how the common thread linking all epic heroes, ancient and modern, is that they’re family men. I made comics out of Shakespeare. I pulled at least four all-nighters in order to get everything done that needed doing. And now, I’m done.
And instead of thinking, “Yes! I’m done! I am finished with college!” my first thought was:
Up until that point, I’d always been able to check off that “student” box on forms that ask for my occupation. I loved that box. It allowed me to acknowledge that, while I don’t have a job, I’m also not one of those people who sits around watching old episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix all day.
Well, now I’m one of those people who sits around watching old episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix all day. Though, to be fair, sometimes I watch Psych or Burn Notice. If there’s an NCIS marathon, I’ll watch that. And of course, I read blogs and comics and obsessively pin things on Pinterest.
And I look for jobs.
I somehow thought this would be easier than it was. Despite everything that is going on in the world, I felt sure that I’d be hired quickly. When people complained about there not being jobs, I always figured they meant in their field, and since I wasn’t restricting myself to any particular field, I though–Damn! I will have so much opportunity!
I started looking for office jobs. “Just a basic office job,” I thought. “Modest salary and benefits. That’s all I need.” But I guess you need five years of experience in an office to get a data entry job.
My search turned to secretary positions. “I can answer phones,” I figured. “I type really fast. I can use Word and Excel. I’m organized and friendly. I can definitely get a secretary job.”
You know what the saddest thing is? The saddest thing is realizing that all your years of schooling and your parents’ tens of thousands of dollars have not prepared you for a fucking secretary position.
I began to get desperate. My friend, who was also job searching, sent me a listing she found on Craigslist with the comment, “WE’RE QUALIFIED!” I looked at it. It was a part-time secretary position. The commute would have been about an hour and a half. Pretty much the only requirement was “Cleavage.” “I have that,” I thought. “In fact, that would make clothes shopping way easier!”
(Side note: Women with larger breasts who wear revealing shirts are often just wearing shirts that look perfectly normal and display no cleavage on someone with a B or C cup. IT’S NOT OUR FAULT.)
This job was seriously tempting. It paid $35,000/year plus benefits. Part time! All you need is cleavage! HOT DAMN.
Then Mike had to go and point out that the “benefits” it refers to might be not for me, but for the boss. At that point, my thought process went from “Would the absurd commute be worth it?” to “Well, I mean, how many blow jobs are we talking here? Once a month? Maybe I could do once a month.”
Suddenly, I understand why so many people join the military after college. If you go join the military, you’ll probably never have to sit there, staring at a job posting on Craigslist, wondering how many blow jobs justify a decent salary for a part-time job.
My current method is to send a resume and cover letter to any job I don’t think I’ll hate–that is, pretty much any job that doesn’t seem to require blowjobs or bootcamp.