I know how the scenario goes. They put that college diploma in your hand on graduation day, you walk across the stage with your head held high and you think, “This is it. I made it.” Fast-forward to two months later, you’re sweating bullets selling ice cream cones at the town pool’s snack bar. And they said you needed a degree for this?
If I were to say “post-grad internship,” would you shudder in disgust or tackle me with five different copies of your resume and a cover letter proofread by Katie Couric?