My third (and, god willing, final) internship ended last week. Even though I left without a job offer or a hint at a job offer, I did manage to fit some quality ballpoint pens, a stack of Post-its, and a pack of printer paper in my purse on the way out. So not only do I have tons of jobless free time on my hand, I also have the basic arts and crafts supplies needed to make 513 paper airplanes with personalized post-it notes attached.
Life is good.
A downside to the end of my internship is no longer having an answer when people ask what I do. Intern sounds downright glamorous compared to unemployed. Hence why I choose to exaggerate the truth and choose my words more wisely. Writing this blog equals freelance journalist, making my lunch equals part time catering, and spamming my brother’s Facebook page equals social media marketing.
But despite all the creative name-calling I have been forced to come up with, I am enjoying my work-free days. I can sleep in and eat non-Ziploced lunches, and have longer and more leisurely conversations with my grandparents, also known as my landlords, about how employers find my Twitter photos (Facebook, Twitter, and Myspace are all the same thing in their minds). These days of nothingness feel almost, kinda, sorta like being back in college.
And while the job-hunting fever is slightly more contagious than swine flu, I’ve decided to steer clear of it for just a little while. My fellow ’09 grads are driving themselves crazy trying to get jobs and I spent my whole summer pulling my hair out (I could now be easily mistaken for Doug Funny) applying to a million places. And here I am: still jobless.
Older people (23+) can’t understand my rush to get a job and now I’m finally starting to get what they say. I’m going to have to work for the rest of my life. That mean’s brushing my hair, coordinating my clothes on close to a daily basis, and making small talk with unlikeable coworkers for the next thousand years.
So why not put that off a little longer?