As senior fall draws to a close I, like many other seniors, am beginning to think about my future. Actually, the more correct term would be that I am beginning to panic about my future. Due to what Career Services would probably define as a "genetic abnormality," I am not participating in corporate recruiting. Instead, I have decided to pursue a career in journalism, or what my parent's refer to as "starving."
The other weekend my mother came up to visit and brought with her an article she had cut out from The New Yorker. It was about corporate consulting.
"Have you heard about this?" she asked me while showing me the article. "You could be making $50,000 at 22!"
"Yes Mom, I've heard of it," I said. "I've decided not to do it."
My mother was not to happy with that answer. She kept asking me how I was going to afford "nice clothes" on a journalist's salary.
"I don't know," I told her, "maybe material goods are not as important to me as personal fulfillment and career satisfaction.
"Hmpf," said my mother, she didn't believe me for a second. "You better marry rich."
I agree with my mother, marrying rich is one possibility. However, in case that doesn't work out, I have begun making alternative plans. For instance, I have started looking for affordable housing in New York City. The other day I came across an ad for a large cardboard box, located on the corner of 3rd and 5th that could be rented for less than $500 a month. I am going to check it out over break but I hear it is located in a very respectable doorway and walking distance from numerous park benches and public toilets.
Food should be even less of a problem. Lucky for me, the waif look is still very in. Contrary to popular belief, Jennifer Lopez's posterior has not made significant headway in altering the industry's warped perception of the ideal female body. As a result, after three months of being a journalist, I may have lost enough weight to begin modeling on the side. At the very least, I will surely be the envy of the well fed women who kick my box aside in the morning on their way to their high paying corporate jobs.
Thirdly, there is the issue of clothing. Unfortunately, my brightly colored sweaters and forest green fleeces just won't cut it in the trendy East village of New York City. At the moment, I am not sure how to resolve this problem. I thought about learning to shoplift but abandoned that plan when I realized if caught I could never post bail. I also contemplated trying to rekindle the vintage clothing trend but discarded the idea as impossible. So instead, I have decided to place a box inside Career Services, right next to the desk where people drop off resumes for consulting firms, and label it "trendy clothes for starving artists." Remember, it is only through the generosity of the corporate world, that the rest of us can remain well dressed.
