I was at my girlfriend’s house one evening, using her computer to search for jobs. It was quickly becoming apparent that walking into the job market with a journalism degree was like walking into battle with a roll of toilet paper.
Joanne, my girlfriend, appeared in the doorway. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Dinner?” I turned around, frowning. “I didn’t know you were cooking. I thought we ordered pizza?”
“That’s what I meant,” Joanne said. “The delivery guy should be here any moment.”
She walked into the room. “So, what are you up to?”
“Looking for jobs,” I said, adding a dramatic sigh for effect.
She pulled up a chair. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going too well.”
“It’s just that these jobs want so much for so little pay,” I said. “The expectations are insane. Even basic office jobs now require multiple degrees and twenty years of experience.”
Joanne peered at the screen. “You’ve given up on journalism jobs? You’re just applying for basic office jobs now?”
“Yeah,” I said. “But because I’m a laborer, I’m not even qualified for those. They all require previous office experience.”
“Hmm.” Joanne leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “Are there any skills you use at your current job that would translate to an office environment? You know, to demonstrate your progression as an employee?”
“Eh, just forget it,” I said, shoving the keyboard away. “I don’t want to do this right now. I’m tired from all working day, and no one’s going to hire me, anyway. I don’t have any useful skills.”
“C’mon,” Joanne said, touching my shoulder. “Don’t get frustrated. You’re just going through a dry spell right now. Someday, when you least expect it, the ideal job is going to land right in your lap.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“Prophetic words,” I said, standing up. “I’ll ask the pizza guy if they’re accepting applications.”