Being unemployed wasn’t always my life plan, believe it or not. But faith intervened in the form of my parents. Growing up, I was always told that school-going is the single most important duty of my young life and that one day, I could look back on my time at the university as the basis for my stable employment.
Of course, that was exactly what a rebellious seventeen-year-old boy needed to be told in order to make him want to become an actor, magician or better still, a comedian – something to break your parents’ hearts with. But as that could not be achieved being stuck in Mrs Liebermans Geography class, I decided to teach my parents a lesson and studied … literature.
Now that I am a bit older, I have understood that trying to teach your parents a lesson is like trying to find the gold at the end of the rainbow. Your perseverance in this matter is a direct indicator of your stupidity.
Literature, or “the Paralympics of academics”, as a friend of mine once called it, can be best described as follows: A master’s degree in primary school knowledge.
“Future employee, what are your capabilities?”
“Well, I can read. Like really well. And sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly crazy, I write about that.”
Still, you could become a teacher. That is if you don’t decide to go for a specialization in Literary Science of Postmodern War Paranoia and Ill-Advised Hitler-References*. Word is, the only two places outside of school hiring literature students are Universities … and Ancient Greece.
Unfortunately for me, the university did not like me after I had attempted to found a Patreon page to cover for the ever-mounting expenses of the ghostwriter I had hired to write my thesis. So after I had made the effort to write a thesis myself and the uni reluctantly gave me my diploma, we went our separate ways.
* That is not actually a degree…