Many, many years ago, RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 38's father bounced her lovingly on his knee and told her she could be anything she wanted to be when she grew up. At the time, this meant she was assured in her dream of becoming a doctor, a dancer, a singer and a magical unicorn that can breathe fire and excrete Jell-O pudding. But times change, and there comes a point when you must grow up, shrug off the childish pipe dreams, stop calling head line monitor Donald Wine at all hours of the night to tell him you're currently "pitching a tent in Trouser-ville if he'd care to conduct a head count" and become a responsible and contributing member of society.
RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 38, is on the straight and narrow these days. It's job search time, and though her original plan to become a bike cop in Congressman Bill Janklow's motorcade now seems a little too hazardous and far-fetched, feeling discouraged would be a mistake. As Gerald McRaney once remarked on a very-special episode of "Major Dad": "Obstacles are what we see when we take our eyes off our goals." Or maybe that was somebody else; RAMONA forgets. The point is "Major Dad" was a great show. Remember Gunny? Oh, and the whole job thing... that was the other point.
Eyes on the prize--right.
Seeking assistance in the job hunt is not something to be embarrassed of. On the contrary, no one is supposed to know exactly what he or she wants to do on the cusp of graduation, and absolutely no one is supposed to actually land a job during the final semester. Right now you're probably thinking: "But several of my friends have already been accepted to lucrative I-banking and/or consulting firms in New York and/or Boston. In fact, [insert ultra-successive and snotty friend's name here] is choosing between Yale law and a six-figure salary plus benefits at the home office of the X-branch of Company Q."
To this comment, RAMONA QUIMBY offers only this: Isn't it possible that all your friends are dirty, dirty liars? Mightn't this all be part of a greater conspiracy to make you feel like a loser? Are they simply jealous of your womanly/manly physique and stylish wardrobe? Furthermore, have you ever actually seen [snotty friend #1] and [snotty friend #2] in the same room together? Didn't think so. Are those even their real names? Couldn't one of them just be a hologram like Al from "Quantum Leap" or a figment of your schizophrenia like that British guy in "A Beautiful Mind?" That's right; relax--you may be hopelessly insane, but at least your friends aren't more successful than you.
And of course, Duke's going to help you out. It's no secret that the University has been busy recently. Renovations of the Hart House have already begun, and by next year, President-elect Brodhead will be residing in a scale model of Pee-wee's Playhouse, complete with a fully functional Conky the Robot. Word even has it that a recently canned football coach has been rehired, not for athletics, but to act as Dicky-B's sea-faring, barnacle-encrusted pal, Cap'n Carl Franks. Fortunately, all of this work has not kept the University from preparing students for the job hunt ahead.
RAMONA QUIMBY recommends signing up for the Duke University Annual Career Week. Unfortunately, eager and hopelessly unemployable students have been signing up for these events for months now, leaving you only with the bottom of the barrel leftovers seminars like "Circus Work: Training Tigers and Other Angry Cats the Gunther Gable Williams Way!" and "From Stalking and to Stealing: the Ten Quickest Ways to Get Fired and End up in White Collar Prison." Still, it may behoove you to let RAMONA give you a couple tips on what Career Week has to offer:
Featured panelists and lecturers offer a firsthand perspective. They've all been where you stand right now and have successfully jumped through the hoops of securing employment. So what if you can't be there to hear their tips. The probable take-home message of any and every alum is that you should have joined eight to ten more clubs and organizations your freshman year and made better grades, because, as it stands now, you're only qualified for a handful of jobs and most of them require obtaining a license to drive a forklift. On the other hand, the dress codes for these types of jobs are usually tank top-friendly, which is nice.
Which brings us to another facet of the Career Week experience: the "Dress for Success" fashion show, a wonderful opportunity to learn proper business attire. If you can't attend the show, remember this: if you're a guy, a basic black suit is timeless, white shirts are the norm for first interviews and those neckties that look like rainbow trout are neither fashionable nor appropriate, no matter how comical your Uncle Cecil looks in one. RAMONA QUIMBY has no fashion advice for females. That "Effortless Perfection" stuff has finally died down, and "show off the goods" would be far too insensitive. "Shake what your mama gave you," perhaps.... "show off the goods," no.
That's a good example of a little something called "etiquette," another instructive goal of Career Week's Wine Tasting and Etiquette Dinner. Of course, you've missed your crack at this one, and truth be told you probably wouldn't have shelled out the 25 food points for a Pinot Grigio sip-and-spit when those same points could have gotten you fall-down drunk at the Dillo, so here's the rundown: (A) The forks with the longest tines are the most conducive to after-dinner teeth picking; (B) awkward and embarrassing business dinners can be effectively ended by feigning allergic reaction to shellfish; (C) if you find yourself unable to choose between french fries and tater tots, the dinner is probably already going a lot worse than you realize. Utilize your popcorn shrimp to employ tip B and cut your losses.
Best of luck with the job hunt. RAMONA QUIMBY will, of course, stick with her own entrepreneurial plan: selling lemon snow cones on the BC Walkway.
RAMONA QUIMBY, AGE 38, is now Atkins-friendly!
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