The subject line might have been slightly misleading, but I needed to catch your attention and I know you’re a sucker for a good ego boost. I am facing some major life changes very soon, and I figured I’d go a different route and start at the bottom rather than the top for life advice. J Train never got back to me is what I’m basically saying.
As with a lot of your readers probably, I am going to be graduating this May and I pretty much have no clue what I am going to do with my life. Didn’t plan this out too well; mainly because I like to cross bridges when I reach them. I’ll have a fairly non-marketable degree from a large state school, meaning I may or may not be qualified to serve people food. I have no work experience other than occasionally caddying for the local country club back home. My most marketable skills certainly cannot be put on a resume, at least I don’t think employers want to know that they would never know if I was blacked out or not.
I feel like you were probably in this exact situation when you graduated, and am baffled how you landed this gig at TFM. You sit around and look at instagram all day and occasionally bash out mildly amusing columns that are somewhat impressively self-deprecating and self-aggrandizing simultaneously. That might be the only difference between you and a chimp with a typewriter, so despite what the haters may say you’ve got that going for you. Enough with the dick sucking though, what are my next moves? Should I try and stay around school and desperately cling to what once was while bartending or some shit? Should I follow in your footsteps and move to a new city and snake it until I make it? Or should I say fuck it and move to some island and just live the beach life?
My future and legacy are in your unqualified yet somewhat capable hands. No pressure.
Now I’ve been on the record saying any advice I offer is either unintentional or should be taken with the same regard of that of a high school guidance counselor. Not the cool, suave, bangs cheerleaders and deals xanies on the low advisor kids fist bump when they pass him in the hallway, but more of the I-drink-myself-to-sleep-and constantly-contemplate-driving-my-Honda-Civic-off-a-cliff-because-I’m-a-guidance-counselor guidance counselor. Nevertheless, I appreciate the email, Billy boy. And no worries, I’m never anyone’s first choice in any aspect of life: women, friends, jobs, my parents. So that’s something we have in common. That’s it, though. I went to a very prestigious, selective institution at the University of Central Florida and got a degree in a high demanding field like filmmaking, so I’m admittedly not familiar with the struggle you’re about to face.
First off, you need to stop going by “Billy.” Any adult that introduces himself as Billy is just handicapping both his job prospects and general likability from the start. Billy is the kid who rolls out of bed at noon on a Wednesday and spends his entire time awake smoking reefer in his dirty boxers while watching Adventure Time and eating soggy Del Taco that’s been collecting dust on his coffee table for the last week. Billy is the guy who still giggles whenever the words “penis” or “vagina” are used no matter the context. It’s time to move on from Billy and adopt the grown ass man name “Bill.”
Bill will finish those spreadsheets and eat your wife’s pussy all before lunch. Bill closes the business deal before the back 9 and nonchalantly breaks 80 after 18. He’s a go-getter. Bill climbs the corporate ladder while Billy gnaws on it from the bottom. Drop the Y, Bill.
So what are your options? It sounds like you have no redeeming qualities or even the slightest ability that one would consider a skill set. Perfect. You’ll fit right in with 99% of the working force. I may be a chimp with a typewriter, but if you get into the business world you just have to be a parrot repeating buzzwords and you’ll be middle management in no time.
Put terms like “outside the box” and “hit the ground running” with words like “influencer” or “synergy” in your back pocket, and we’re talking five figures with full bennies, a modest house you spend 30 years paying off, and a wife who you’ll grow to resent because she’ll only touch your piece twice a year. Eventually you’ll divorce after multiple therapy sessions fail. She’ll take half of the little you actually have, the kids, and any remaining manhood you haven’t already sacrificed in the rocky decade-long relationship. You’ll live out your remaining years as a bitter, cold asshole before keeling over and eventually succumbing to a sudden stroke at 55.
Not of any interest to you? Alright, let’s see. You could always go off the grid, “Into the Wild” style, and live off the land as a nomad. Doesn’t sound like you’re much of an outdoorsman, though. I imagine you’d probably end up eating a bad batch of berries and slowly cough up blood until your last final breath in isolation on the Alaskan frontier where no one knows or cares of your existence.
Let’s see. What else? You could just follow in my footsteps and get into the blog game…who am I kidding? Dan Regesters don’t just grow on trees.
I think your best bet is to keep caddying at your country club and pray you come across and befriend the next phenom. If you go that route, make sure to only refer to yourself by some obscure nickname like “Tugs” or “Wonky” without ever giving an explanation. That’s the formula to success. If a dude named “Bones” can be a multimillionaire, there’s no excuse why you can’t, too.
Or, you know, just use your fraternity connections. I hear spamming national’s Facebook page is a proven tactic..
P.S. definitely drop “suh, dude” when you walk in for an interview.