Job search. What two words can strike fear into a senior's heart like "job search"? Unless of course, it's "unemployed forever" or "dirt poor."
But you're not a senior, you point out, you're just a measly '03. The thing is, this guy I quasi-know has been offered a job. Not just any job. He has been offered a very lucrative job. He's a '00 of course, a mere three or four years older than I am, and will be earning 1.8 trillion dollars to make spreadsheets using Excel. I think this is wrong. People should not make this much money. Still less so if they are not related to me in some way and unwilling to share some of the wealth. 1.8 trillion! Perhaps this is something of an exaggeration. It's actually a mere 100 grand. Gasp. A piddling, negligible, trifling, and insignificant $100,000. Pocket money, really. I scorn $100,000. I laugh at it. I gag. I vomit.
I lust for it.
A moment's pause to direct some comments towards the '00s currently without a definite job offer or any prospect of employment. I have two things to say to y'all: 1. Haha.
- I sympathize completely.
I went to Career Services last Friday (third floor of Collis) because I really need a job, preferably internship-esque, for this summer. I am taking a stand. I refuse to spend this summer toiling away in the lower echelons of student employment. I will not be a summer camp counselor! I will not serve fast food! I will not say "would you like to see that in a larger size?"
Instead, I will answer phones! I will type up forms! I will seal envelopes! I will be "the little peon that could" in the machinations of a Fortune 500 company! (What exactly does Fortune 500 mean?)
However, I have come to realize that the perdition of searching for employment goes much farther than the few months of summer spent in a (preferably air-conditioned) office. For the past, oh, several years, my mom has been wandering around our apartment muttering "Goldman-Sachs-Morgan-Stanley-Dean-Witter-Merrill-Lynch-baby-baby-baby-money-money-money." The perpetual shadow of "what are you going to do with your life and how are you going to make a living?" looms over all my being. And not to denigrate those math, economics, and computer science triple majors out there, but frankly, I'm not particularly fond of the idea of prostituting myself to the corporate world for the sake of a few dollars. Admittedly, I just barely scraped through high school calculus, but I'm sure my lack of an ability to reason logically means nothing investment companies and others of that ilk. All they desire is innocence, to plunder our ingenuous souls of all that is good and upright.
Rather, I'd prefer to prostitute myself to the world of high fashion, to the world of beauty magazines, even to the world of Ally McBeal, for the sake of a few dollars. But what's a girl to do when she's going to a school like Dartmouth, known for spewing out its investment bankers? (Which is, by the way, precisely the $100,000 job mentioned above.) Transfer? No, of course not.
Settle for lower pay in a career she knows she'll love, in a field that she knows will excite her for as long as she chooses to pursue her interests?
Pish posh.
The answer lies in a single computer program. Excel. With Excel, you too can excel. Give up a life of fulfillment and learn how to use Excel. Be an investment banker. Spend 150 hours per week (this is not even an exaggeration) typing entries into spreadsheets, hope to God your name looks good next to an ampersand, and sit back -- 'cause baby, baby, baby, the money's rollin' in.
