Eager but ripe with confidence, having been reassured along my four years of university my fancy new degree along with my being a trilingual would have companies banging at my door with lavish and lucrative job opportunities. June comes and I walk up onto that stage to get my degree standing proud, feeling like I had trumped all those fools I graduated high school with who hadn’t gotten a degree. I nonchalantly apply for positions I consider “dream jobs”: CEO, head buyer for international fashion houses, national news correspondent. I do have my fancy degree after all; I’m not about to work for anything beneath me.
Confidence faltering, I figure I might as well keep my options open. I post my resume up on every job posting website I can think of and I contact placement agencies. If I put myself out there, something truly special is sure to find me. Here I have more luck scoring interviews only to be disappointed by my own lack of experience, over qualifications or disinterest in joining a pyramid scheme beneath the glamorous mask of international sales. Family members and friends suggest I consider going back to school in the fall, get my real estate licence or perhaps become a chef. It’s summer — who hires in summer? My dream job is waiting for me! I should’ve started sooner. My degree will not let me down!
I find myself midday, sitting by the phone in my pyjamas eating out of an ice cream container. I put myself out there, act as best I can, say all the right things and alas the three-day rule passes and no calls. Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of my life. I spend my days playing Scrabble against my shadow in order to stay sharp. Someone somewhere must have cursed me! That’s it! Or perhaps I’m just not meant to work. I should just find a wealthy man and become a lady who lunches.
I give up. I don’t need a job. I live with my parents — if I want spending money, all I have to do is mow the lawn. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I started my own landscaping business.
I stand in my backyard hosing grass clippings off my still phenomenally pale legs when I hear my phone ring. Unfamiliar with the sound, I wonder whether my hours on the lawn tractor have finally caught up to me and I’m nearing deafness. Alas my dream has come true! I’ve been offered a position with a company I’ve actually heard of, proof of education is required and I have to be bilingual!
Three days into working full time, where I expected a corner office with an antique mahogany desk and giant windows, I find a worn out office chair in a grey cubicle, but I admit I sit proudly feeling as though my patience paid off! If you get everything you want, what is there to look forward to? And if people ask, I can still tell them I have a convertible. It just happens to be a lawn tractor. What? John Deere is just as prestigious as Mercedes-Benz!