Like many of my fellow seniors, I was worried about getting a job after graduation. Architecture majors have it especially bad, because not only do we not have many marketable skills, but the only one we do have – making buildings – isn’t needed when people can barely afford to eat, let alone build themselves a McMansion.
I’ve been doing some legwork. I looked at a couple of architectural firms’ websites. I even went to visit one firm’s office downtown on Monday. My studio classes all let out at 6 p.m., so I had to go kind of late, and the front door was locked. Fortunately, I was able to climb through a window that looked like it was broken by a thrown rock. Some might call it breaking and entering, but I call it a renovation. They might as well hire me, because I’ve already started doing work for them, though for some reason, I haven’t even gotten a call for an interview yet.
Some of my friends are exploring jobs in other fields, such as substitute teaching or whatever you call what baristas do at Starbucks. I have one friend who’s even talking about becoming a stripper! I thought it about it myself. I mean, I don’t really have the body for it and I’m afraid of the idea of getting naked in front of a mirror, let alone in front of other people. But I do like the idea of getting paid in $1 bills, because I’ll be able to keep track of my money when I have to count each individual dollar at the store.
After all, everything’s getting more expensive now. I went to the bank yesterday to get some money to buy groceries, but they wouldn’t let me take out a home equity loan for food. They said something about me not being a homeowner, which is pretty archaic, if you ask me. It’s like we’re still a country where white, land-owning males are the only people who can vote. It’s kind of sad that I spent two hours waiting to vote for Barack Obama and he still hasn’t put things back the way they were four years ago, when banks gave you a sack of money just for walking in.
The bank seemed to have the right idea about me finding a place to live, though. I can’t go back home because my 10-year-old brother’s already put his Spongebob Squarepants sheets on my bed, which means he’s pretty much moved into my room. Regular readers of my column know that back in February, my jobless friends and I decided to go look at some apartments where we were told that we “didn’t look like” we “could afford to live here.” We went to visit some more apartments last weekend and, even though I showed the leasing agent the wad of $1 bills I earned at work Friday night, he gave me a really disgusted look and asked a security guard to show us the way out.
As he escorted us to our car, I noticed a dumpster with some cardboard boxes poking out of it. One of my friends said, “Hey, we’ve got a place to live!” But, as we loaded them into the trunk, I realized I had a much better use for them. Long story short: My new stage name is “Box Boy.” I think I’ll be getting paid in $5 bills now.
Dan Reed is a senior architecture and English major. He can be reached at reeddbk@gmail.com.
