Post Grad Problems Blog

1.  The dress
Her:  The most beautiful dress she'll ever wear...as long as it doesn't make her hips look too wide.

It’s no news that the office is not a runway. Since my entrance into the “real world,” I’ve been coping with the fact that in addition to my youth, social life, and carefree nature, I have also been forced to put the free reign of my own wardrobe behind me. I always envisioned myself coming into work every day in cute dresses and pencil skirts, being complimented on my outfits by all the girls in my office and secretly noticed by all the guys. I’d have money and could buy the designer labels I pined over in college, guilt-free. . I also always envisioned Benny Rodriguez had come up with a way to stay 14 forever, turn his back on the sandlot, and fall madly in love with me.

As it turns out, of the 56 employees in my office, I like exactly two of them. One is a 32-year-old married woman who is desperately trying to live vicariously through the life I don’t have, and the other is the janitor. To say that the only reason I even shower before work is because I have to (and because I occasionally have lunch among civilization), would be an understatement. My dreams of being voted “best dressed” in the office superlatives, which I was certain would be a thing, were crushed when I realized I was thrown among people I would never, ever care to impress. I hate that I have to buy my clothes specifically for people who will never notice them, and I resent both my employer and the dress code, because my  “work clothes” have become a virus in my closet slowly growing and taking over the cute, colorful outfits of my past.

Still, I think the whole sneakers-with-a-dress thing is a bit much. I get that the metro, subway, or whatever other public transportation you have to take, can certainly be a struggle, and I suppose your work shoes aren’t necessarily your most comfortable, but you know what else isn’t comfortable? Being pressed up against a high school freshman on his way to school in a way that you are pretty sure is illegal in all 50 states, or nearly falling onto a homeless man who keeps laughing at the jokes you can't decipher because of his crack habit, both of which happen pretty regularly on an average commute. At what point, though, have you surrendered all cognizance of your participation in the social world in exchange for 30 slightly more comfortable minutes, during which you think it’s okay to go out in public looking like a corporate bag lady? By wearing those shoes, you’re telling the world “forget my husband, even I don’t want to fuck me.” Sneakers should really only be worn at the gym, which is exactly why I haven’t seen mine in upwards of three months. What’s worse than the fact that you’ve essentially just given up at this point, is that you don’t care about the rest of the world, but you are going to change into some “practical” (heinous) shoe before you get to work, so you can impress the people who really matter to you: your co-workers!

I pray the day never comes when I realize my co-workers have become my only source of meaningful human interaction, because that is a sad, sad, Chinese-food-filled existence. 

With that said, I think I’m going to be stopping by Lady Footlocker on my way home from work today. Should be making a pretty decent investment.

1.     You wish you were back in college.

2.     You’re unable to score, but tell all your buds that you didn’t want to, anyway.

3.     You have no idea where you’ll call home next year.

4.     Your teacher probably has a foot fetish.

5.     The only thing you’re drinking before bed these days is a glass of milk.

6.     You spend your entire time in the back taking notes.

7.     You plan on coasting to success just on your intangibles.

8.     You spend your nights reading out of an increasingly irrelevant book .

9.     Anytime you break the room’s monotony and speak up, people hate you.

10.  At the end of the day, you just want to take a knee and bury your head in your fist.

11.  Worst comes to worst, you bet you could probably get a job on TV.

12.  High school prodigy. College legend. Post grad bust.

13.  After looking at the job market, spending a year doing missionary work isn’t looking so bad.

14.  Denver’s not terrible. Florida could be worse. Anywhere but fucking New York.

15.  I mean, Canada can’t be that cold, right?

16.  SOMEONE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HIRE ME.

17.  Your mailed-in GPA flutters like a wounded duck pass.

18.  As soon as you get settled in your new job, your boss is already searching for your younger, cheaper, more talented replacement.

19.  None of your thin budget is going toward birth control.

20.  Despite all the hours of studying and hard work, deep down you know that you flat-out suck.

Whoever it was that came up with the phrase, “You can tell a lot about a man from his golf swing” is easily one of the wisest guys to have ever held a 9-iron. It’s an exact science. You show me someone who is socially inept -- be it in the workplace, a happy hour, at their kid’s tee-ball game, or even a funeral -- and I’ll show you someone who swings a golf club like he's been instructed by retards his entire life. If you see someone on the range swinging like your 13-year-old sister, you can safely bet three paychecks that he is as cool as syphilis. He probably rollerblades on weekends with his son, decked out in matching protective gear: wrist guards, elbow pads, helmet, kneepads, and probably a rape whistle.

These people don’t deserve, or belong in, important roles in business or society.

In the corporate world, this theory becomes most applicable. Having at least a halfway decent golf swing is vital to the advancement of your career, depending on your field. I’d argue that still frames of a job applicant’s golf swing should even be featured on his résumé. It’s not that you have to be knocking down flagsticks and spinning it back like Vijay Singh, but you need to be able to belong out there, or at least be good at pretending to belong. A strong swing shows fortitude. It shows gumption and character, confidence and class. It shows proper upbringing and it shows pride.

Let me help translate this into practical business terms. Let’s say you’ve got a great product you’ve finished developing, and you’re ready to finally push it. You’re ready to turn those countless hours, those sleepless nights, that vast research, and those tens or hundreds of thousands of development dollars into revenue. It’s now time to choose your distributor. You’ve got it narrowed down to the two biggest, most reputable in town. Per American corporate custom, you hit the links with each company’s pitchman -- a feeler round of golf. You’re sitting on a clear winner, so they want your business, and they want it badly. For argument’s sake, let’s assume all aspects of each company are equal.

Company A sends Gary: a 5 handicap with a power drive, an adequate approach game and a soft touch around the dance floor. Gary, being the golfing enthusiast and gentleman of the game that he is, brings you a fine cigar and buys you a drink after the round.

Company B sends Connor: a topping, slicing, mock-turtleneck wearing, “which club should I hit here?” excuse for a golfer that looks like he’s out there swatting flies instead of swinging a golf club. It doesn’t matter which club you hit, Connor, because you can’t hit any of your fucking clubs the way they’re supposed to be hit. Whose clubs are those anyway? Fuck you, Connor.