Class of 2011,
You may think the world outside of the walls of your hallowed institution is an inviting one that’s waiting for you to join its ranks as another valued member of the team and of the American workforce.
You’re lying to yourself.
The only workforce you will be a part of for the next six-months to two-years is the Walmart workforce, where you will be greeted with open arms as you greet people because you’re the Walmart greeter. Even still, customers will complain that your “Hello, and welcome to Walmart” wasn’t believable enough, and that while you claimed to be happy to see new customers, your eyes were screaming for the sweet embrace of death. They will be right. You will not be able to tell that they are right because you will be pretty stoned when you do it.
The aging American workforce doesn’t want any more of you young kids coming in and stealing their jobs. They realize that doing such things as cleaning toilets and spraying people with perfume in malls is a job any asshole over 15 and with a strong tolerance to getting punched in the face by an enraged middle aged man that smells like Drakkar Noir can do. They would rather you turn hippie and live on a commune growing organic rutabagas that you trade to another hippie commune in exchange for their delicious pesticide-free kumquats. Sure, in that scenario you’d be a dirty hippie that is loved by no one other than Mother Gaia (the name of your Siberian former-hairdresser lover turned rutabaga farmer and hemp wearer), but at least you’re not preventing him from making enough money to get a drink after work.
Your parents, who had grown accustomed to using your empty bedroom as a place to smoke pot and bang like they weren’t gross 50-year-olds, will quickly grow to despise you soon after you move back in within the next couple of weeks, and then “temporarily crash there” for the next four years. They will spit in every dinner they make for you – every dinner that they make out of their unconditional love for you.
Other, more successful college grads in your class will make you feel like a festering sack of festering boils (both the sack and the boils are festering at the same time) as they instantly land jobs in the fields they had dreamed of working in since they were children. You will hate them, and, when you run in to them at party months from now, you will try to spit in their drink, because you hate them unconditionally.
The life of a recent college grad is a rough one. But if you persevere and work harder than you’ve ever worked before, one day – maybe within the next five years – you, too, will be able to despise the young recent college grad that’s trying to steal your job as the perfume-sprayer at the mall.