"Dear God won't somebody give me a job" or "Why my money would have been better spent on breast implants"
And no, Diana, I still do not want to clean up Bobby's messes in the neighbor boys' yard. Ask me in a week, when the electric bill comes.
I wish somebody would have told me that a Masters of English would be more of a detriment than anything else. I wish somebody would have told me that even if you apply yourself and work hard and write a thesis and seek out higher education that people don't really want that. I wish I had spent the money on breast implants instead.
Yep, that's the conclusion I've come up with. They would have been cheaper. I could have even tacked on a bit of liposuction around the middle and thighs and butt for what I'll end up paying in student loans. Instead I chose grad school, where I worked my ass off and simultaneously saw my ass grow.
People like breasts. They'd rather look at your breasts than talk about the female rebel in the short stories of early American women writers. With breast implants, I'd have a job by now. I'm sure of it. Even if it was stripping. Sure, I'd likely lose respect for myself, but I'd make a decent living doing it. I just applied for retail jobs. I've already lost respect for myself. And I'm not bringing in $400 a night.
People look at you funny when you apply for a part time clerical job at a snow plow manufacturer that pays $9 and offers a wood panel/brown paisley carpet cubicle as a perk. They ask you want you plan to do with a Masters in English. You want to say that you sure as hell didn't plan on applying here but smile instead and say you like to leave your options open, you like variety, you want a part time job that leaves time for writing projects or adjuncting. You are lying and you hate yourself.
With breast implants and hair extensions you could probably get a job as an executive assistant. I'm just noticing I switched to second person. I suppose it's easier to disconnect yourself from how crappy your life is right now. But it wouldn't be if you were an executive assistant. You could schedule travel trips and make copies and get coffee. If they paid you more than $9 an hour you wouldn't care that your boss is probably incompetent and uses the wrong form of "there" when writing emails and you have to silently correct this before sending it on.
If you had gotten a job at McDonalds instead of going to grad school, you probably could have worked yourself up to manager. Instead of all those hours you wasted doing research for your thesis, you could have perfected just how much orange drink, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, and Surge it would take to make a kick ass suicide. Your secret would be to add a little iced tea at the end. Even this would be a bigger accomplishment that a MA in English--forget that you can't hang that on your office wall in a ridiculously large frame you bought one day when you decided an achievement like a MA in English deserved to be showcased. That, of course, was before you realized what a crock of shit that degree actually was. That it wasn't enough to get you a good job, but that it would keep you from getting a mediocre job. You're told to take that line off your resume, as if it's a shameful secret, like admitting you like to watch animals do it at the dog park. Ok, you kind of do, but that's not the point.
And I'm getting off my soapbox now. And I'll eventually turn this into a great essay. But it won't matter.
I wish somebody would have told me that a Masters of English would be more of a detriment than anything else. I wish somebody would have told me that even if you apply yourself and work hard and write a thesis and seek out higher education that people don't really want that. I wish I had spent the money on breast implants instead.
Yep, that's the conclusion I've come up with. They would have been cheaper. I could have even tacked on a bit of liposuction around the middle and thighs and butt for what I'll end up paying in student loans. Instead I chose grad school, where I worked my ass off and simultaneously saw my ass grow.
People like breasts. They'd rather look at your breasts than talk about the female rebel in the short stories of early American women writers. With breast implants, I'd have a job by now. I'm sure of it. Even if it was stripping. Sure, I'd likely lose respect for myself, but I'd make a decent living doing it. I just applied for retail jobs. I've already lost respect for myself. And I'm not bringing in $400 a night.
People look at you funny when you apply for a part time clerical job at a snow plow manufacturer that pays $9 and offers a wood panel/brown paisley carpet cubicle as a perk. They ask you want you plan to do with a Masters in English. You want to say that you sure as hell didn't plan on applying here but smile instead and say you like to leave your options open, you like variety, you want a part time job that leaves time for writing projects or adjuncting. You are lying and you hate yourself.
With breast implants and hair extensions you could probably get a job as an executive assistant. I'm just noticing I switched to second person. I suppose it's easier to disconnect yourself from how crappy your life is right now. But it wouldn't be if you were an executive assistant. You could schedule travel trips and make copies and get coffee. If they paid you more than $9 an hour you wouldn't care that your boss is probably incompetent and uses the wrong form of "there" when writing emails and you have to silently correct this before sending it on.
If you had gotten a job at McDonalds instead of going to grad school, you probably could have worked yourself up to manager. Instead of all those hours you wasted doing research for your thesis, you could have perfected just how much orange drink, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, and Surge it would take to make a kick ass suicide. Your secret would be to add a little iced tea at the end. Even this would be a bigger accomplishment that a MA in English--forget that you can't hang that on your office wall in a ridiculously large frame you bought one day when you decided an achievement like a MA in English deserved to be showcased. That, of course, was before you realized what a crock of shit that degree actually was. That it wasn't enough to get you a good job, but that it would keep you from getting a mediocre job. You're told to take that line off your resume, as if it's a shameful secret, like admitting you like to watch animals do it at the dog park. Ok, you kind of do, but that's not the point.
And I'm getting off my soapbox now. And I'll eventually turn this into a great essay. But it won't matter.
posted by KC in Katoland at 1:41 PM
3 Comments:
You will turn this into a great essay, and I will have to be a better reader because when I read this:
They'd rather look at your breasts than talk about the female rebel in the short stories of early American women writers. With breast implants, I'd have a job by now.
I thought I read this:
"American women writers with breast implants."
Because I am not too bright.
Also, I may have been jumping around a little. The cohesion is not there. I get it.
Hang in there. A lot of us are in the same boat. Not that I have anything against breast implants, but remember that you gained all kinds of other skills along the way (researching, writing, proofreading, organizational and teaching experience) and (hopefully) getting the MA was not just about the job - you got professional experience talking, researching, and writing about something you love.
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