Jobs are for suckas

J.B. Sivanich

Having a job is a lot like having a girlfriend. The only thing worse than not having one is actually having one.
I never really understood the logic behind accumulating things that you spend the rest of your life trying to escape. Isn’t the absence of these two things what makes childhood so precious? Well, that and fruit snacks.
Fortunately, I have been all but entirely successful at avoiding both through ways that in a perfect world would receive commendation. I know what all you smart-aleck sophomores who are already taking – gasp – 400-level philosophy classes are thinking.
But this column is less of a job than a platform to express my tortured self, and that skinny girl with the short hair that I always follow around is just a friend.
Seriously, though, jobs are no laughing matter – well, unless you voted against the stimulus bill because your party can’t come up with any ideas to improve the economy past cutting taxes even though the stimulus bill included some of the biggest tax cuts in history – then, I guess jobs are a laughing matter.
But as a collegiate graduating senior who belongs to a liberal community that values working – instead of, say, quitting halfway through an established four years of employment to ride around in a bus taking credit for a book that someone else wrote and then getting a talk show on Fox News – I have had a lot of societal pressure placed upon me to fret and worry about my chances of becoming a productive member of society.
As anyone who knows me can tell you, I have a permanent propensity to do the exact opposite of whatever society wants to do – see 1. beard and 2. my success.
So therefore I want to use this column to publicly say to everyone that I have not dedicated a single thought to what I will be doing come June 14. So eff all y’all.
I encourage all my fellow seniors to take a similar approach to those nosy underclassmen who feign sincere interest in your future when they are only using your life to assuage their own insecurities about their future job prospects.
I also encourage all the younger classmen who are guilty of all this harassing to stop sucking so much at being gossipy. We all know the real question is not “what are you going to do next year?” but “how much are you going to be making next year?”
Then again, I think the American election process would best be run in a system where all debates, editorials and rallies are banned, leaving only 30-second television attack ads. But I’ve never understood why everyone makes a big deal about honesty and then goes around smiling all day.
Back to jobs: When I sit down to ask myself what I want out of a job, which will probably occur once the NBA playoffs are over – don’t let them stop David Stern, just come up with some bogus rule so I can watch the Cavs play the Celtics forever and ever – I will have to decide what I want.
Last year, I finally confronted the reality that I might not have what it takes to be a star wide receiver for the Green Bay Packers.
I also have become conscious of the fact that a career as storm chaser, my backup plan, most likely will not provide the kind of lifestyle I have always envisioned for myself – too many lackluster white vans filled with old Styrofoam coffee cups. But maybe that’s a good starting point: What kind of lifestyle do I want?
I guess I just want what everyone wants before they come to terms with their shortcomings and lower their life aspirations by finding affirmation in a different – albeit clearly inferior – culture such as among liberal hippies who garden all the time, only eat organic vegetables and listen to whiny girl singers from the 1960s. And what I want now is fast Italian sports cars, fine Italian suites, beautiful Italian supermodel friends and a house in the L.A. hills.
The words “actor” or “T.V. producer,” are probably popping into your head, but you have to keep in mind that I really, really don’t want to work. I really think that my best option is in one of America’s fastest growing and most exciting new career fields: that of the sports star entourage.
This way I can live how I’ve always imagined myself living, and party as I’ve always imagined myself working. I think my Lawrence career prepares me perfectly for this line of work, seeing as getting someone a Gatorade while watching “SportsCenter” with them is not really “work.”
My abilities to watch endless reruns of “106 & Park,” engage in tweet warfare and condense a whole Foot Locker catalogue into three easy-to-make selections make me a relatively strong candidate. Thanks again, Lawrence!
So for all the little Perez Hiltons out there, the answer to the above question is 170K. But you have to keep in mind that includes unlimited sushi, unlimited Nicaraguan cigars, unlimited Armani, unlimited courtside tickets, my own three-bedroom guesthouse and my own Maserati.
Also, I will be giving fist bumps for a living, making me automatically more successful than anyone else who has graduated from this place in at least the last decade.

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