Why Being A Uni Graduate Is Sh*t

I graduated from uni and have landed a job working as a coupon sorter. They don't tell you about that in the f**king prospectus...
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When I was younger I was sure of two things: I was going to be rich and successful and Samuel Crest was lying when he said he said his dad invented olive oil. Now I look back I can safely say I was probably wrong on both counts. Samuel probably wasn't lying. If a child was going to fabricate an invention by a parent surely they would opt for something mildly more impressive than a type of fat. My money is on Samuel's parents trying to trick him into eating something contaminated by an (olive) oil spill in the kitchen.

The other is harder for me to come to terms with. I partially blame the people around me for this false belief ingrained in me that now means I will never be content with an average wage. I ask where is your "cream of the crop" now Miss supplier of false information and false hopes i.e. my form tutor. I bet you told everyone they were the bloody cream of the crop. I built my future aspirations and self-belief around that statement that you were handing out willy-nilly to every tom, dick and harry.

I did everything I was told in order to be successful. After  I got my BS degree from a good University I  completed a short, well okay quite long, stint on the dole before landing a job as a...Coupon sorter! Oh yes how the cream of the crop has become the residue.

As I sit there sorting my coupons I'm subjected five times daily to that little advert on the radio from some university or another telling the world how 98% of their graduates are now in full time employment. This enrages me. Why don't we get down to specifics here? Why don't YOU tell us exactly what industry your successful  little graduates are employed in? I tell you why they don't - quite simply because we are all employed in some factory somewhere making pork pies or shoelaces.

So why did I end up here? Well as you've probably noticed I'm in the habit of blaming everyone but myself and I'm still adamant that the three most prominent culprits are my lying teachers, the really inconveniently timed economic climate and interviewers. Interviewers purely because they ask rubbish questions and are therefore really bad at their jobs. And  I really resent the fact that a person doing their job badly is preventing me from securing the job I know I deserve.

I ask where is your "cream of the crop" now Miss supplier of false information and false hopes i.e. my form tutor.

"So Harriet, tell me..." I lean forward the rehearsed answer ready on the tip of my tongue.

"Would you rather be crushed to death by a car or a boulder?" My tongue goes dry. My rehearsed answer to any other question in the world really was bloody superb. Have I thought in great detail about the way I would like to be crushed to death? No actually I haven't, I'm working as a coupon sorter so I try to avoid thoughts of impending death in case it pushes me over the edge. Or gives me unhealthy ideas. I opt for the car in the hope that the returning car owner will realise that they parked on me and get help.

"I think you'll find in that situation you would actually much rather be under a boulder surrounded by nature to give you a peaceful send-off,"  she replies shaking her head condescendingly at my below par response. Silly fucking me. Obviously I would rather be stuck under that fucking boulder thanking the lord that I don't have to endure the pesky sound of traffic on my way out. Obviously the scenery is going to be at the forefront of my fucking mind as a giant rock crushes my internal organs and with my last dying breath I'll be sure to comment on the fucking view.

I was feeling pretty confident about another group interview until task one commenced. We were all handed out a little piece of folded up paper with the name of somebody famous on it, we were then told to argue the reasons why said famous person should be allowed the last place on a life raft after a plane crash over the famous people being represented by other interviewees. As we went round the table naming our famous person and the reasons we should be saved  It became immediately apparent that the universe wanted to ruin my life. I tell you it's really quite a difficult task convincing people that you, Marilyn Monroe, should be saved over the likes of Ghandi, Mother Theresa and Winston Churchill. My 'special friendship' with the president failed to cut it and I was left to drown or as some sleaze pointed out 'float home on my boobs.' And it still turns my stomach knowing that the charmer that came out with that little gem was seen as more employable than me, afterall he did get the job.

But despite all this I still think I'm going to make it big one day.

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