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Give me a Job...Seriously

December 4, 2006   Give Me a Job…Seriously

    Coming to Hamilton College is great.  Graduating from Hamilton College sucks.  My recommendation is to simply stay in school for as long as possible.  Fill out grant proposals, write pleading letters to your rich relatives, do whatever you can to stay in this place.  Never in your life will you be in the company of so many stimulating and intelligent people.  I have the feeling that the real world is full of idiots—do you really want to expose yourself to that?  Stay stay stay at Hamilton where your meals are cooked for you, where access to a world-class fitness center is only a walk away, where brilliant minds engage you and keep your thirst for knowledge alive, where you are rewarded for being creative and curious, where no one expects anything from you except that you have an open mind.  
Is it obvious that I’m bogged down by grad school applications, the prospect of job interviews, and a terrible—I mean terrible—temptation to succumb to senioritis?  This entry comes as the result of a two-week hiatus from journaling.  Sorry for that.  I’ve been busy not studying for the LSATs, which take place tomorrow.  I’ve also been trying to figure out what to do with my life.  I’ve applied for a couple of grants and am in the process of finishing grad school apps…but what happens if all those things fall through?  I’ll need someone to help me.  
     Listen, if you’re out there in that real world and happen to be reading this journal—maybe you’re a rich alumnus, maybe you’re a prospective student with good connections, maybe you’re in a position to help me out—I take back all of those horrible things I said about you and your world.  In fact, to make up for it, I’ll offer myself to you as a potential employee.  This may sound like a pathetic attempt at finding something to do with my life after college, but think about it.  The Hamilton Admissions Department obviously thinks I’m good for something; otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this particular entry.  Wouldn’t you like to have me working for you?  Wouldn’t you like to have someone who is motivated, intelligent, and not above being obsequious if it means the promise of employment? Need a writer?  I’m your man.  Need to give someone a six-figure salary?  I’m your man.  Need someone to mow your lawn?  I’m your man.  Need a sycophant?  I’m you’re man—you look great, by the way.  
     I’m really only half serious.  My fours years at Hamilton have probably endowed me with survival skills that I won’t be able to recognize until after I leave this place.  It’s just frustrating at times; after four exciting years I’ve finally settled into a routine, I’ve finally developed habits that suit me, and now it’s time to leave.  Oh well.  Onward and upward I suppose.