Calvin Cato ’06 isn’t going to let something like “graduation” keep him from sharing his wisdom and wit with Argus readers. This semester, Cato will provide candid field reports from far outside the Wesleyan Bubble, in a distant place called the real world.
You wouldn’t have thought I’d stoop this low.
I recently ran into a person I knew from high school on the street. I had just performed a stand-up comedy set and I saw him from a distance, spiffily dressed in a wool suit. In sharp contrast, I was rocking a denim jacket, torn jeans, and a “Retired Retard” shirt. Needless to say, I didn’t want to stop and chat. I was all prepared to pull my invisible bit and walk right by him, but then he said those three words that would condemn me to an awkward conversation: “I remember you!”
We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and then moved on to the interrogation session. I asked him what he was up to—and like pretty much every one of my high school peers who went to an elitist conservative college, he’s doing paralegal work and then going to law school. After five minutes of him expounding on his successes, the subject turned to my least favorite subject: my life.
“So Calvin what have you been up to?”
“Oh me?” I started out with the truth: “Well, it’s been a whirlwind since I left college.”
Then I went into some light embellishment: “I’ve been doing stand-up comedy in some clubs around the city while holding down a job at a media company.”
And finally the embellishment degenerated into a full-on lie: “Did I say ‘media job?’ I actually meant to say a career as a segment producer. I just got out of a meeting with Joss Whedon—you know, the Buffy guy?—and he was really interested in my writing. I was also asked to submit a tape of my stand-up performances to a Hollywood agent but I heard from my famous comedian pals that the guy takes too big a cut so I passed. And then the Argus—the school newspaper I single-handedly ran—begged and pleaded for me to come back to work for them, and finally I said to them ‘Okay, I guess you guys could use the added readership.’”
Apparently, I’d traded the Wesleyan bubble for the Deluded Pseudo-Celebrity bubble—complete with a straitjacket and rubber walls.
I should have been ashamed of myself. Not only were these lies so bad a blind man could see through them, but why should I care what this person thinks of my life? Couldn’t I have just told the truth?—Hell no! This is the real world and the real world is all about the myth.
See, this myth is a two-parter. Part one: Every college alumnus lands a dream job. Part two: There’s is no interim period between graduation and success. Some myths need to go the way of Old Yeller. Since I trust you guys, I’m going to lay the truth out for you.
Picture this: After four years of essays, blue-book tests and drunken networks, college student X gets a liberal arts degree. He’s a writer and a hopeful comedian, so New York City is the perfect place for him. As a bonus, his parents already live in the city, so moving back will be a breeze. Out go the resumes, the query letters, and the phone calls. And in comes…nothing. Days go by, then weeks. X raids the pantries, scarfs down Fritos and Cheetos, and waits for replies. After a month, the rejections come in. Most of them come by e-mail: “We regret to inform that there is no room at our company.” Some employers go the extra mile and snail mail a form letter of rejection. One place sends you a postcard with a picture of a cubicle; the tagline reads “Wish you were here!” Desperation sets in; X goes to temp agencies who tell him he is too qualified for menial labor but not qualified enough for a writing job. X is stuck in a filing position, getting “experience.”
I’m sure this story will mean nothing to you whippersnappers yet, but wait until a month after commencement; the real world will sober you up faster than an omelet at Athenian. I’m not telling you guys to drop your humanities majors. But don’t be surprised when employers treat your B.A. with the same indifference as they would a Cracker Jack prize.
Life after college is rough, kids, and the economy isn’t too good either. You could even say that all recent alumni trying to carve out a creative niche for themselves in a place overpopulated with starving artists are having the “worst week ever.” But I graduated so I’m retiring that title. Instead, I’d like to call myself “in the trenches.” The real world is just another version of warfare. Just replace the mustard gas with the odor of failure and the dead bodies with fallen potato chip crumbs and you’ve got yourself a working metaphor. But just because I’m wallowing in uncertainty and self-doubt doesn’t mean I have to let people know about it. Hence, lying is justified.
So technically speaking, the truth is that I am temping and busking. And I am still writing for the Argus, not because of any major outreach on the editors’ parts, but because when I come back for Homecoming, people can approach me and say “Didn’t you graduate?!” And I can respond with a yes and talk about the lunches I have with Michael Bay and the agents I have to beat away with a stick. Come on, it isn’t lying if it’ll eventually become true, is it?
Leave a Reply