For some reason, it seems like people are feeling a little anxious about graduating. Apparently the economy is bad? Hm. I don’t know about you, but I’ve got a six-figure gig lined up for me once I receive my pretty gold-sealed diploma. That’s right, I bet you wish you were an English major now, eh.
But don’t fear. There is always your parents’ house, and I’ve heard through the grapevine that this seems to be the way to go these days. And if they are already leasing out your room to a couple of Jesus hippies who pay their rent with home-made granola bars (oh, just me?), then there is always your parents’ basement or seventies style fold-out futon couch.
As for jobs, there is hope. Except this time it won’t be coming in the form of a dimpled and charismatic presidential candidate from Illinois. Read on.
Back-up career plan number one: Become a dominatrix. So you didn’t get accepted to medical school, big deal. The real money these days is in fetishism because, as everyone knows, your customers tend to be high-paid politicians and CEOs who want nothing more than to throw $20 bills at you while you expertly apply a pair of electro-shock nipple clamps. Call it sex work if you like, but I prefer the term “customer service.”
Back-up career plan number two: Join a band. The most money I ever made was touring with Nickleback as their “odd-jobs girl.” They gave me the cymbals, the occasional kazoo and I even played the triangle every now and then. Of course they were booed off stage most places we went, but when you’re a rock star, people would give their left arm just to touch you, even more to feed you (and it’s true, by the way, Nickleback really did have the quesadilla).
Back-up career plan number three: Take off your clothes. If you read my column last week, you got the low-down on the college student’s favorite quick-and-dirty way to make money. One thing to watch out for, though ? beware of sleazy club owners who will try to take too large a percentage of your earnings. Nothing boils my blood, blows my fuse, hell, fries my hat (I’ve always wanted to say that) more than someone who takes advantage of the talents of a girl in the buff. So, I implore you potential strippers: know thy stripper rights.
Back-up career number four: Become an entrepreneur. I recently decided to take a short break from my normal reading (The National Enquirer and Star magazine, if you’re wondering) to pick up something a little more highbrow. It turned out to be a little too highbrow for me, so I soon returned to something with more pictures. However I did take away one thing ? despite the fact that Americans are so broke we lick other people’s fingers at KFC, it turns out we are still shopping more than ever. I chalk it all up to denial (it’s weird, why would a river in Egypt have anything to do with this, right?!) The point is, make something and sell it. I mean, someone out there is making money off motorized nose-hair trimmers. You, too, could have a three-by-three inch segment in Sky Magazine adverting your newly minted two-person sweatshirt, for the lovebirds who just can’t get close enough.
So you see, it won’t be that bad. And if none of these options suit you, you can just get hitched to a wealthy Transylvanian baron named Dragos who may or may not eat small children for breakfast. Now go make money, little drone ants, so you can hurry back with $20.11 for our queen bee, mother UC Davis (those Senior Class Challenge kids are persistent, aren’t they?).
I know that many of you have fallen in love with college, but remember ? you need to believe in life after love. And now that I’ve gotten that song stuck in your head, let the hate mail flood in.
LENA PRESSESKY can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.