the deserted bandwagon

Author: Matt kunzweiler

Thinking I could sit in Wright Theater and catch up on some reading, I showed up to the Career Service Office's first senior meeting almost half an hour early. As someone who usually walks into class two minutes late, I entered the foyer hesitantly and, to my chagrin, saw that no other students had yet arrived. Great, now I looked like some over-enthused toady, just itching to embark into the work world.

A woman with a nametag and a stack of glossy folders approached me. "You're the first one to the meeting! We oughta give you a prize or something."

"How about you find me a slack job with a big salary?"

Not realizing I was serious, she laughed politely and handed me a folder. I found a seat close to the exit - just in case. Unfortunately, as soon as I sat down, the loudspeakers began playing swing music at a threatening volume. It's strange that CSO chose swing music to set the mood for this meeting - as though it was the soundtrack for a life of work. You see, I've always harbored a strong irrational hatred for this music.

Holding my little career planning folder, the sentiments quickly overwhelmed me and the swing music opened a floodgate of traumatic work memories.

The last time I held a serious job - summer of '04 - I was nearly fired while temporarily sitting in as the assistant to my boss's boss's boss, the big shot, a man who was formerly the Chairman and CEO of CNN. The Boss had accused me of having failed to deliver an urgent message from Her Majesty Queen Noor of Jordan, with whom I spoke on the phone while he was out of the office. Anyway, before the ax fell, but after I had been yelled at for 20 minutes, Queen Noor happened to call again and was kind enough to explain everything to the Boss and clear me of all charges, which I thought was especially kind.

The upsetting, frantic pace of this episode was perfectly matched by the tempo of that swing music - the carnivalesque soundtrack for white-collar suffering. Come May 2006, I wondered, will the next 40-odd years of my life be choreographed to this awful score?

I sat despondently until the auditorium was filled, and then it was announced that Otter Nonsense would be performing before the meeting formally commenced - the thought being that their antics would help lighten the mood. But the vivacious group needed volunteers for their skit, and one of the players grabbed me by the arm, saying "Come on, it'll be fuuuun!" It was like being accosted by a clown during a funeral. Then someone sitting near me saw what was going on and decided to chant my name, hoping to coax me onto the stage. I held my ground and told everyone around me to shut up, to just shut up.

By the time the meeting started, I was a complete mess. But there was good news! I found out that I don't have any desirable work skills, nor am I employable. So instead of grinding my teeth to the tune of swing music for the next several decades, I can kick back, relax and be a pizza delivery boy. Or a CRA.