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• a college newspaper that’s actually about college •
Volume 2, Issue 1 2/9/12 - 2/28/12
theblacksheeponline.com
real life on the horizon
or: How I Realized Hell is Soon Approaching Abraham Froman wrote this I like making money. In fact, I want to attain enough of it to rightfully own the title of “baron” in the 21st century. But I also like staying up to see the sun rise on the back porch while pulling from a whiskey bottle and listening to Otis Redding. Until I can find a way to make money doing that, it looks like I (along with my other classmates) will have to enter into the dark foreboding realm of the corporate world. A career fair, you say? If I’m lucky, the recruiter will look at my resume. If I’m even luckier, a piece of said resume will cling to the recruiter’s body after she shreds all potential resumes. To hell with career fairs. It’s like pissing on the side of the toilet bowl – you have to pee, you just don’t want to make too loud of a splash. Seventy trillion (calculus, bitches) peers around you with only one harried recruiter makes it hard to shine without looking like the biggest douchebag of the bunch. Yet, if you’re lucky enough to have a friend’s dad’s cousin’s fuck-buddy-from-high-school as a VP at Conglomotech, you might just get an interview in Tate the next day. You know – the interviews in the grand ballroom alongside of another seventy trillion people. There’s an old adage, “Never wear a suit nicer than the person interviewing you.” Well, what if the person interviewing you isn’t wearing a suit? What if that person closely resembles a balding Willem Dafoe? And those eyes…those goddamn eyes. This is what I encountered in Tate after the career fair. Not needing to be up until noon for class, I casually booked a 9:30 a.m. interview. Moron. I hastily knot my necktie, as the memories of college spew tears in the corners of my room, yearning for the times we never really remembered together. Then I make it over to Tate and watch candidate after candidate walk up to the sign-in desk and tell the receptionist his or her name only to be pointed to enormous signs hanging on the wall detailing the sign-in process. As I hope these prodigies are applying for the same job that I am, a sudden chill hits the air as my name is called. And wouldn’t you know it, the
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interviewer immediately goes off on how he was from Georgia Tech. Hey man, go to hell. Where are you now, big shot? So there we sat, on one side, young Abe: fresh to start his career in big boy land. On the other side, an interviewer immediately pissed that I called his gray-market server company a “gray-market server company”. For him, the interview went downhill. I, however, thought the conversation was delightfully awkward, telling him that I had no idea why I was selected for the interview as I had little interest in the position offered.
Looking back on it, I probably could’ve been a little more helpful and compliant by giving them a candidate that had potential. And sure, I have the potential. We have the potential, but these career fairs are little more than temporary slaughterhouses built up to further bloat the cavernous maw that is the corporate world. Walk in and before you know it there’s two quick shots to the back of the head in the form of a car loan and at mortgage. Graduate school looks mighty appealing at this point.
Part one of our twopart series thinks Valentine’s Day is just dandy, dear!
GOD I HATE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING! I HOPE YOU ALL DIE ALONE!
Duh, stay under someone else, right?
see page 4
see page 5
see page 6
An Optimist’s Perspective on Valentine’s Day A Pessimist’s Perspective on Valentine’s Day Survive A Break-Up (And Come Out On Top)