Career (un)Fair.

Warning: The Career Fair is not an actual fair. Fairs have ponies and candy and fun houses with mirrors that make you look thin (even though you’re fat). Fairs have 300 lb. carnies named “Brick” whose tattoos impressively depict the female anatomy. The Career Fair has none of these. The Career Fair made me cry, and not with tears of joy. The Career Fair’s Candy is just the name of a mid-level analyst with thoughts on synergy. No livestock; just low-valued stock. No horse shit, well, no real horse shit. Some suits, some sadness, and more ass kissing than a donkey show. And worst of all, the Career Fair means I’m an adult. It’s Tuesday afternoon at the Fair when I realize this. I’m devastated. How devastated? Well, I’m exaggerating slightly, but think of it as the Holocaust times a million. Here are my classmates toting monogrammed clipboards, and I (and this is the truth) am still not entirely sure what a monogram is. How could I have prepared for this so poorly? A week previous, like a penitent sinner, I’d made the pilgrimage to OCS for some pamphlet perusing and resume boosting. Side note: this is a thought that’s gone through OCS’s head thousands of times, “Shit, we don’t have enough pamphlets!” Another side note: browsing the pamphlets at OCS is a bit like seeing the results of full spectrum STD workup on my classmates: penetrating, gross, and not surprising. “How To Get A Recommendation When No One Likes You,” “Is Tons of Name-dropping Enough Name-dropping?” “Fathers, Mothers, Aunts, Uncles, Wives: Meal Tickets!” While all seemed vaguely helpful, I needed something specifically tailored to the irresponsible way I’d prepared for the professional world, such as “Last Minute Resumes: How to Succeed on Paper Without Really Trying”. Inside I found a few strategies to boost my resume before the old Career Fair. Fall Back On High School Accomplishments ‘Cause let’s face it, you were actually great back then. Captain of the football team, Emperor of the Chess Club, Evil Emperor of the Resistance Chess Club. Titles were easier to come by than awkward boners. The challenge isn’t remembering how great you were, it’s finding a font small enough to fit that on two lines. Lie Strategically It’s okay to lie on a resume, as long as no one can trace it. The following are prime examples: Worked at Top Secret Spy Company that can’t be discussed or Googled. Won all awards possible but modesty prevents me from listing them. Did anything in Africa. Having thus prepared my resume, I considered my work done. Fast forward a week to the Career Fair. Folder in hand. Pen on Folder. Nervous bite marks on pen. Small pieces of food on bite marks. I approach my first recruiter. He’s a man. I record my thoughts. Minute 1: Breath shortens. Self doubt cripples left side of body. Self loathing cripples right side. Minute 2: Fear of failure empowers both sides. Minute 3: Exhausted. Break for water. Minute 4: Free pens! Minute 5: Limit four per person. Five brochures, forty pens and a dozen offended recruiters later, I refocus my search on jobs that match the skills this college has given me. Speaking Middle English. Hmm…must have missed all those presentaciouns. Superficially understanding philosophy…darn, if only Harvard were hiring. I finish cursing Gordon Teskey, whose captivating whimsy sold me on such a useless major. I tuck my pens in my pants, and prepare to return home empty handed. That’s when I see the dolls, and with them, my holy grail: The Walt Disney Company. Good Ol’ Wally D has brought along stuffed Mickey Mouse Dolls. Dolls are like prizes. Prizes things at real fair. Real Fair Fun. Brain. Not. Computing. Want. To. Explode. So I do the unthinkable. With the genuine intention of learning about a job, I ask a question. “Dolls” I say. “Not a question” says the doll man. “Strategy or finance?” he asks. “Dolls” I say, pens spilling from my pants. He talks. I nod. And believe it or not, I actually get a business card. Sure, it’s not an offer, but I also stole one of the Mickey Dolls. OK, Career Fair, I’ll call this one a draw. —Nelson T. Greaves ’10 is a senior in Winthrop House.