"Bye, Bye, Best Years"

Bye, Bye Best Years

“College – Man, those were the best four years of my life.”

How many times have you heard that sentence spoken? Probably a lot. Probably spoken by some older friends or relatives of yours … and probably concluded with a few pregnant and awkward moments of head shaking, possibly sobbing, before you snuck away toward a less depressing conversation. I’ll bet you’ve even heard that sentiment sung before, in that one good Bryan Adams song. Why does this phrase resonate so clearly with every generation that comes before us? Everyone over the age of 22 has at least one climactic story about when they saved the day from the cross-state rival sporting squad, their cranky college dean, or their wicked stepmother. And if you used a line graph to chart the apparent excitement in those lives after they earned their diploma, then posted them on a wall, you might think you mistakenly wandered in to a hospital ward for dead people, where the nurses are too lazy to take down their charts. Or something. The point is, their lives get boring.

“College – Man, those were the best four years of my life.”

But blithely we continue on through high school and college, thinking that it won’t happen to us. That we’ll be the ones who can get our dream job right after graduation, then live comfortably while managing to maintain some sort of “cool” status with the local in-crowd. When we actually do graduate, though, we find out just how stupid we are, how wrong we can be, and just how quickly money can disappear in the real world – especially if that real world includes back alley cockfights.

Lately, I’ve been convinced that the lion’s share of this postgraduate angst comes from the stress of trying to find that first job, that beacon of independence that screams out to the world, “Yes! I can make it on my own! Screw you, Mom and Dad!” What I’ve found so far, though, is the beacon is broken, ships have run aground, and they’re about to catch on fire.

In this “turbulent economy,” the job market has become less like Bloomingdale’s and more like a run-down 99-cent store. Pickings are slim, savings accounts are slim, and I’m slim ‘cause I can barely afford to eat. And, of course, it’s not just recent college grads that are looking for these entry-level jobs, but people of all ages, backgrounds, and locations. It’s a heartwarming unemployment rainbow. Being able to find a decent job is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. As for me, a hopeful TV writer looking for work in Los Angeles, it’s more like trying to find a piece of hay in a needlestack – it’s full of shiny distractions, nearly-hopeless, and hurts like hell.

It’s tough to get people to talk to you long enough to get a fax number to send a résumé to. It’s tough to go into an interview and be forced to be more polite, more personable, and funnier than you’ll ever have to be if you were actually working there. It’s tough to find your way around a city that’s neglected it’s mass transit system in favor of the automobile, yet still has millions of people who don’t know how to drive correctly. I like to think that everyone goes through something like this, mainly because I can take a little bit of solace thinking if I have to suffer, everyone else has to suffer, too. I’d still rather just have a job, though.

So as I look at this college degree sitting on a dresser I got off the side of the road, next to my air mattress on the ant-infested floor I sleep on, I ask myself, “what was it all for?” What did I get from all those years of schooling? The countless books, papers, and nights spent studying? Just the ability to occasionally win Jeopardy, sitting on my couch eating 89-cent macaroni and cheese? Oh, and that enormous, mortgage-level student loan debt? Yes, all these things and more – most importantly, the ability to lie to people.

So far, I’ve been honest, open, and candid in all of the job interviews I’ve been on since moving out west. And all that honesty, openness, and candor has just gotten me closer and closer to the food stamp line. Instead of assuming that people who are just more qualified than I am have gotten these jobs, I’m instead going to assume that they’re just better liars than I am. It helps me sleep at night. And so, for my next interview, I will lie through my teeth.

As far as I can tell, getting a job requires an intense amount of truthbending, and really, what did we learn in college more than that? “There was a family emergency, Professor,” “I bought toilet paper last time,” “I’ll just have one more rum and Coke,” and “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend,” have turned into, “That company said they weren’t hiring,” “Of course I know how to use Excel,” “I gained a lot of experience in that field at my last job,” and the ever popular, “I have never been convicted of a felony.” Hell, even Bryan Adams lied about his age in that song. Included here is an actual(ly extremely exaggerated) account of one of my more recent interviews with a major film production company.

As I walked in to the interviewing room, I shook my interviewer’s hand and told her it was “a pleasure to meet (her).” As you can see, I am lying already. How do I know it’s going to be pleasurable? I don’t know this person – she could be an awful human being! She might watch FOX News!

“You’re résumé looks pretty impressive,” she began, “but it looks like you’ve done a lot more writing than production. Is that what you see yourself doing in a few years?”

I drew out a long “well…” here. I’d had interviews that ended pretty quickly after I told people the truth about what I want to do with myself in the future. So, following my plan, I lied. “I do have more writing experience, but you know, I did spend a lot of time on set at my internship … and … there’s just something very vibrant and exciting about being in the production end … so I think I’d like to look at that more.”

I watched her face for clues, something – anything – for me to latch on to and spin a yarn about. Did she want me to drive people around and make deliveries? I’m a world-class auto mechanic who just bought the world’s most dependable car. Was I going to be getting lunches and delivering mail? Because I volunteered at a post office on even days of the week and soup kitchens on odd ones. Should I oversee and maintain the office fax machines? Then a Goddamned fax machine was my Goddamned best friend growing up. We played hopscotch and hide-and-seek, but we would always get into fights when it gave away our hiding spot with its incoming fax alarm. Good times, good times.

Oh crap. Now I’ve missed my interviewer’s follow-up question because I’ve been too busy amusing myself picturing a fax machine trying to play jump-rope. I fumble. “Oh, I brought some references for you.”

“Great,” she says. “I’ll take those.” I’m saved. She takes my references, then just stares at me. I realize, in horror, that she still wants me to answer her last question. My eyes glaze over. I am totally screwed.

“Well,” I stutter, “I’m not sure about that, but I’m definitely sure that I’m a hard, dependable worker and –“ The puzzled look on her face let me know that she knew I didn’t know what I was talking about. “I’m done, aren’t I? You have no intention of hiring me, do you?”

“Well, I’m just going to have to hire someone’s relative, anyway, so probably not.”

“That’s what I figured. Well, thank you for being honest.” Another lie. “I guess I’ll see you later.” And another! “Nice meeting you.” Rimshot! One for the road!

And with that, I was done. I picked myself up, walked out of the office, and gave a dirty look to the next person coming in to interview … you know, to put him on edge, play a mind game, or whatever. He wasn’t getting that job, either – the least I could do was weird him out a little.

When you don’t have a job, you have to think of little ways to amuse yourself, you know. Since I haven’t had a job since May, I’ve had lots of time to think about ways to amuse myself for decades into the future. I can’t wait until some of my younger relatives start graduating high school. Then I can go back to their graduation parties, get drunk off cheap, family-supplied alcohol, and tell all the kids about my glory days.

“Lying to people – man, those were the best 20 years of my life. Seriously, kid, if you ever want to get anywhere, start lying now and don’t ever stop.”

Those kids are going to be seriously fucked up.