Can you believe that college actually has to end at some point? Nobody forwarded me that memo. My impression was that you'd graduate from high school and then go off to college until you die. Apparently some experts I talked to think that idea is "ridiculous." Plus, the idea that I could even begin to think such a thing means I "am incapable of simple speech and pattern recognition" and "require immediate medical attention" and "should be placed roughly in the same IQ bracket as a large meerkat."
Whatever, nerds. Nobody's perfect.
In any case, the end of college means I'll have to become a productive member of society. That means getting a job.
My history major doesn't exactly help me.
Thankfully, the University has a wonderful career services office that can help even a no-talent ninny like me get a job. It's located in Bryant Hall at Scott Stadium, so this week when you're lamenting our paltry victory against Duke, you can rest assured that something productive goes on in that stadium.
But no matter how nice I make my resumé look, no matter how well I dress, I'm still a history major. That can only get you so far. About as far as an employment application for Arby's.
I scheduled an appointment with a UCS counselor to help make my resumé appear nice and spiffy. She looked a little peeved when she noticed I had simply written out the lyrics to "We're Not Gonna Take It" by Twisted Sister on a piece of paper. OK, so maybe I had to have an "actual" resumé.
She asked if I had any marketable skills, to which I replied, "Only if you count my ability to simultaneously juggle flaming hotdogs and shoot snot rockets fifteen yards." The meeting went downhill from there.
I did leave with one good piece of advice, though: During job interviews, always toot your own horn. Make yourself appear like the best potential employee in the tri-county area. I thought, "No sweat. Piece of cake. Cash in the bank. Other affirmation-of-ease clichés."
I called UCS immediately and scheduled a mock interview to test my chops. My interviewer was a smartly dressed handsome fellow who works for a New York firm that specializes in giving its workers 100-hour weeks. This is the same firm, though, that has a massive pool filled with gold coins. (Think Scrooge McDuck's pool. You get the idea.) I strolled up in a borrowed suit with rollerblades and a fanny-pack, ready for anything. The interview started well, with the guy asking me by-the-book questions. I remembered to really sell myself, despite whatever I was thinking. Here are a few examples:
Incredibly Powerful Man: So Brendan, tell me, where do you see yourself in 10 years?
Me (out loud): Of course, I see myself well on my way down a successful career path with a proven track record of success by delivering to my clients the best service money can buy.
Me (thinking): Ten years? I think that the new Star Wars sequels come out in 2017. I'll probably be camping out somewhere to get those tickets.
IPM: Are you a self-motivator?
Me (out loud): I need little or no motivation to finish vast quantities of work simply because I know that my work ethic is merely a reflection of my corporation's commitment to excellence.
Me (thinking): You know what would go great with watching Star Wars? Arby's.
IPM: What do your coworkers say about you?
Me (out loud): My coworkers see me as a highly competent, hard-working chap -- somebody who isn't afraid to stay up all night working on the Petersen deal, but also somebody who isn't afraid to make a reference from "The Office" at the watercooler.
Me (thinking): How in God's name did Luke Skywalker know in "The Empire Strikes Back" that he had just enough cable in his SnowSpeeder to wrap around the AT-AT's legs three times? I mean, the Force can only get you so far. It's a little ridiculous.
I think I nailed it. Case closed. No-brainer.
So what happens now? I go through the year having miniature heart attacks whenever I think about my future. I graduate. I get a job -- maybe? Who knows. We'll see. I've got that Arby's application safely placed, if need be.
Brendan's column runs Mondays. He can be reached at collins@cavalierdaily.com
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