I’d cry myself to sleep. But enough about my adolescent Eutopia they call college.
I’d pound on the pavement to prove to any employer that my amiable personality and superior writing skills make me qualified to do…well…anything. In an effort not to continue my 3-year waitressing career, I’d do the same thing Josie Geller did: search for a job as a copyeditor and plan to work my way up the ladder.
I won’t have trouble coming across as a “nerd to the core”, who got a grammar book for Christmas and loved it; who bought the AP Stylebook on her own free will; who can actually explain what the subjunctive tense is. (Thank gawd for Spanish!)
I’ve also found that people get intrigued in interviews when I tell them I play rugby. I had two jobs in Manhattan, and I swear that’s why.
I’d network with the alumni I know from SBU, call some friends from high school; I’d see who knows of any job openings, and I’d spend all my time proving that I’m the best person to fill them.
If I were to graduate tomorrow, I’d be unhappy, I’d be stressed, and I’d have my work cut out for me. But I’ll get by.
