Somebody hire me. No joke. Open request. Hit me up.
This career fair thing next week has me a little worked up. I don't get worked up very often about pretty much anything. But right now, color me worked up.
I look around at my friends in finance or accounting or engineering. They've got ideas. They've got résumés full of career-specific experience and talents. They've got drive and motivation to talk to this guy from this company or firm about this internship program. And if that guy doesn't seem fired up about it, they've got 50 more places to go.
I talk to my Arts and Letters friends, and even though it's a much more wordy conversation full of lofty language and big words, they seem pretty all right with grad school, law school or, with the ambitious ones, a real job.
Well, I've got a suit. I've got a résumé that screams, "This kid has no clue what he's doing with his life." My résumé includes how many box tops I collected in my dorm last year. So when I don't get hired, at least the guy crushing my application into little balls and throwing them into his basketball hoop-themed trash can in the corner of his slightly above average office knows I'm a better person than he is.
What I don't have is any clue under the heavens of almighty God what I should be shaping my future towards.
Yeah, I'm a marketing major. But do I want to do marketing? I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe I want to be an astronaut or a cowboy or a fireman.
I work for The Observer, and I'll probably get a journalism minor here. It would be cool to work for a newspaper, I guess. You know what else would be cool? Operating a telegraph. Being a chimney sweep. Working as a deck hand on the Titanic. Do you get what I'm saying here?
Everybody says I'm fine. It's a process. Nobody knew when they were your age. You'll figure it out. With a degree from Notre Dame, you can probably do anything you want. Don't worry about it. It'll be fine.
Well that sounds all good and well, but gee whiz guys, there's a career fair next week. Who am I going to talk to? What tables am I going to stop at? Can these people see just by looking at me that I'm not qualified to do anything except ramble on in newspaper columns that nobody reads? And I'm not even qualified to do that, I just do it and nobody here has the heart to tell me to stop.
I'm worked up, guys. Real worked up. And I know I'm not the only one. Holla if you feel like you've been down the same road.
All I know is that I would feel a lot better about all of this if somebody would just hire me.
So seriously. Somebody hire me.
