Cover Letter
Remember those job surveys every student was forced to take in high school? The ones with stupid questions like,
"Would you rather:
A. Work with children
B. Supervise zit-faced high school dropouts
C. Work with a hammer, nails and/or a sledgehammer
D. Continually adjust your monitor and ergonomical keyboard to keep from getting carpel tunnel syndrome
E. Marry a rich guy and live happily ever after."
If you chose A, the omnipotent survey would tell you that you were destined to be a housewife, and it would ask why you were bothering attending high school anyway. Choosing B would cause your mailbox to be flooded daily with offers from Burger King and Hardee’s Management Training Program. No one I know chose C, I'm quite sure the survey would advise experimenting with alcohol and heavy machinery to prepare you for high-risk construction jobs. I always avoided D and E like the plague. If my choices were D, E, or death, I'd choose death, with a slice of cake.
What brings back the severely repressed memories of blackening thousands of pointless Scantron bubbles is the coming of the end. The end of school. It's horrible really, this system of education. Just when you're getting used to swiping your student discount card at its 29 Milwaukee area accepted locations, someone ganks it right out from under you. Now, instead of having an excuse for eating macaroni and cheese 3 nights a week, I'm just poor.
The Elmbrook School District put a considerable effort into what they referred to as, "Goal and Future Management," or maybe "Time Killer While Teachers Take a Smoke Break." Whatever the title, we were constantly encouraged to make grand lists of our aspirations, and even to categorize them according to "Achievable in the Next Year," "Five Year Goals," and my favorite, "Anything Can Happen!" These goals were sealed in envelopes and returned to us when we graduated. I looked at mine recently, and I reflected on the number of things I had accomplished. Sadly, I have not slept with Trent Reznor, or become the first woman president, nor have I joined the cast of SNL. However, I have attended and am about to graduate from college. So I got that going for me.
What bothers me about my (thus far) unachieved goals is that they remain, as a tool to remind me of all that I was supposed to have achieved by now. In the words of George Kastanza, "If you take everything I've done and condense it down to one day, it looks decent!" I'm at the end of this comfortable section of my life. From this point on, there will be no bright red syllabus outlining the due dates for the next three months of my life. No quizzes, no participation grades and no bluebook exams. It feels like I've reached the end of the toilet paper roll. When it's full, and it's the quilted brand, everyone spins it recklessly, uses more than necessary and doesn't think twice. But now, at the end of the roll, I just can't spare a square.
What now? Buy the wrist brace in advance, grease the keys of my standardized keyboard, adjust the monitor's contrast level and watch as my ass widens while spending 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. in a cubicle, eating lunch at my desk, for the next three to five years? Gravel and pucker up to a boss that won't recognize my creativity unless my articles draw readers and constrain my cynicism to please the advertisers? I'm quite aware that during my job search this site may be viewed by potential employers, as they pass judgment on my personality before ever bothering to place a phone call. I'm well aware that the majority of positions posted in the newspaper business have a candidate to fill them before the ink dries. I know that there's a distinct possibility that I will spend my summer and next fall looking for a job in Milwaukee, and never convince anyone that I have the ability and the drive and all the right power words in my resume and cover letter.
Even if there's no excuse for my malnutrition, lack of health insurance, the check engine light that's been on in my car since last Spring, and I don’t have a $70g a-year job lined up or a lakefront condo, I'm not going to worry. I don’t have a plan, other than writing all I can, even if it’s pro-bono and submitting resumes like crazy. Office life is not the life for me, and I don’t plan on sacrificing my freedom just because the job pays well. It at least has to come with benefits, a yearly Christmas party and a wide cushy chair to allow for rear expansion.
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