First, they don't give you a raise for a couple fucking years. But that's OK, this is a college job, you know? It pays you alright, works around your hours, you can deal with it.
Then, you graduate college. WOOO HOOO! Though you despise the old job with every ounce of your being, you stick with it, simply because you're comfortable, and you like the guys you work with. You're looking for a real job, the writing job that's going to come and save your ass and make you famous, the journalist job that's going to start you out. You'll have your own beat, your own portfolio, and hell, maybe even TIME will pick you up someday. You never know, right? The future is butterflies and fucking rainbows.
Well, you get shot down by every place you apply to. Hell, they don't even grant you an interview. Every paper, every publishing house, every magazine. Four years of college, and you can't buy a fuckin' seat on a park bench. Sure, I should have done an internship when I was there, maybe I could have some contacts, some experience... but you know what? I was too fucking busy. Busy with what? Working. Driving a forklift all hours of the day so I could pay my bills, my ridiculous car insurance ($7 G's a year, fellas, for three years), pay for my gas, and anything else that can be tacked on there. That was my fucking internship. It was an internship on the hard knock life, working with Puerta Ricans and blacks and white trash, learning all the bad shit and how to get away with it. But alas, there's no "contacts" that come out of that, no "references" to list on your application.
All that working 35 hours a week while going to school full time, all the literature and classes and professors and BULLSHIT, and this is what I'm fucking left with. Working 28.75 hours a week, getting paid absolutely nothing for it (cause it's been four years since I got a fucking raise), and praying that when I go into a metal shop in Ramsey on Monday, black Notre Dame hat-in-hand, that my buddy's boss (who may as well be a stevedore during the fucking Depression as far as I'm concerned) will grant me $12 an hour to pour metal and drive a forklift.
It'll be a new job, sure. And they'll pay me better. But the fact is, I am as jaded as one motherfucker can get. I am pissed. I am pissed at all those fucking high and mighty professors who made it sound so simple, who made it sound like you get out of college and people just fall at your doorstep to hire you, like so many dominoes. Well I guess that's what happens when you have fat motherfuckers who never have worked an honest, backbreaking day in their lives, teaching what they call, "Higher education".
The sad fact is, if I had joined the Navy right out of high school like my buddy, I'd be hired at $15 an hour and be moved up quick. Instead, back to the basement I go, with heavy gloves and a tired heart.
Writer's Guidelines: "It's not easy to break into Men's Health. Don't even try if you haven't been published in a major magazine. Still with us?"
NO I'M NOT YOU MOTHERWHORING JERKOFFS. I'M POURING FUCKING METAL BECAUSE YOU WON'T GIVE ME THE TIME OF DAY CAUSE I'M NOT RICH AND FAMOUS. FUCK YOU MEN'S HEALTH.