Every morning I walk downstairs to the kitchen and make coffee. At what point my days began to necessitate a hot injection of caffeine, I can’t be sure, but what I do know is that the ritualized act of pouring Starbucks Kitamu into a filter and hitting a switch satisfies two of my most important recent-graduate needs: starting every day with a purpose, and trying my damn hardest to feel like a grown-up.
Of course, I am not a grown-up, and making coffee is usually the most productive thing I do in a day. But it helps sustain the illusion of a vibrant, worthwhile existence. Most of the time.
When I graduated from McGill in the spring, many of my friends asked me what I planned to do if I wasn’t going to graduate school. The majority of conversations went like this:
Friend: “What are you going to do with your lack of experience and English degree?”
Me, full of confidence and irony: “Probably end up working at Quizno’s!”
Friend, nervously: “Ha, ha, ha!”
I would kill for a job at Quizno’s. Well, not really, but making sandwiches is much more lucrative than sitting at home playing guitar, checking Facebook, and deciding whether the photograph that will end up on the back of my bestselling first novel should be in colour or black and white. Sure, if I worked four days a week waiting tables, I could have time to enjoy all of the above while still making enough cash to pay rent, but when you factor in the return of 30 Rock and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.… Well, a man has to prioritize.
But I don’t want to sell myself short. I recently scored an unpaid internship at a well-known media outlet, and on my days off, I sell fruit at various farmers’ markets around Toronto. Take that, English Lit. degree.
Having been out of school for five months, the two most important things I took away from my time at McGill were a love of poutine and a very clear picture of my mind-boggling societal value. So far, neither has been especially helpful. Every time I’ve received a preliminary screening call from a prospective employer, I’ve been unable to stop myself from fantasizing about what Successful Me would look like 10 years down the road, after I’ve moved all the way up the company/organization/Quizno’s ladder through a combination of savage intelligence and knee-weakening charm, much like a half-Asian Don Draper. I’m fully aware that this is a counterproductive attitude to have as a recent grad without any real world experience, and eventually I’m sure that some combination of credit card debt, self-loathing, and a fast-drying reservoir of parental sympathy will catalyze a shift in my behaviour.
Actually, I do have the beginnings of a plan. I’m currently taking a certification program that will allow me to teach English to non-native speakers in strange, far-off lands. Having grown up in a strange, far-off land myself, I’m not anticipating too many problems adjusting, although I am a little worried that overly warm temperatures will severely hinder my ability to wear a suit and fedora once I rise to the top of my future language school. Thinking about it now though, I could definitely see myself leaning against a palm tree, lost in thought, gazing into a tropical sunset as I contemplate the follow-up to my Pulitzer-winning literary debut. I think that would make for a great photo on the inside of my book’s dust jacket.
