As I've mentioned in the last entry, next year is going to be my last year studying. The year after that I'm going to have to say tearful goodbye to my jeans-and-tshirt days and start practising ironing office suits and separates, which is such a futile exercise since I suck at anything remotely domestic. And I think ironing is almost a complete waste of time anyway, you can only walk around crease-free for a few minutes, before you crush your immaculately-starched shirt and pants by sitting on the very, very, comfy LRT seat, and if you don't get a seat that usually means you'll be crushed between some guy who thinks it's his constitutional right not to wear deodorant and another who seems to get aroused (I truly, truly hope it's the very soothing and feminine voice of the LRT destination announcer and not me) every five minutes.
It's a no-win situation. Both ways you end up reaching the office looking like a shipwreck survivor. Ironed shirts or otherwise.
I think I'm digressing. Which is what I do best. If there's any need for a digressor (though I don't think there is such a word, but that's beside the actual point, isn't it? Let's not digress from the actual point. By the way, digressor sure sounds like degreaser, which may come handy in sticky situations like the one you're probably going to encounter some time during the course of the day) I'm definitely the person for the job. I can digress and never get to the point at any time within the same century and your competitors (and clients) will either impolitely leave or die of old age without having achieved anything in their lives. If there's a need for your company to ensure a steady supply of rude and incompetent competitors (or clients), just give me a call. My resume will impress you.
Where was I. Oh yes, the rather intimidating prospect of entering the workplace. I mean, for real. Not one of those internship programs. Interns get paid squat for the amount of work they do. I pity my friends each time they complain about the amount of work they have to do that sometimes sounds more (maybe they are exaggerating, I wouldn't know) than what the permanent staff are doing (which, of course, is bossing the interns around) and at the end of the month, they might as well be paid with a couple of zoo passes and a can of Diet Coke instead of a paycheck. Interns have no voice and power. They need the sacred testimonial to be perfect so badly that whoring any sense of dignity that's left of them becomes remarkably easier and almost effortless. My heart goes out to my friends who've recently finished their industrial training and survived, only to be faced with another equally back-breaking academic semester. Their resilience is something to be reckoned.
Wait, I think I've been digressing again.
The truth is, I'm kinda scared of no longer having the safety net provided by being able to say "Hey, I'm just a student/intern, gimme a break. I'm still learning here."
And I totally suck at ironing.