As I write this column, which was due about two hours ago, I am a stressed out student. I know I am not alone.
The semester is coming to an end, the rest fiercely uphill.
On top of my classes and an independent study, the $250 speeding ticket I got a few days ago isn’t sitting well with my empty pocket book, and I’m attempting to figure out my summer.
I have faith that it will work out if I persist, but damn, things are not moving forward.
I am trying to work and live with my girlfriend in New York City.
That is what I want; I’m willing to do anything to make it happen.
I’ve applied to at least fifteen jobs and internships, put my current room up on Craigslist for sublet and asked at least ten people about a room in New York for the summer.
So far, I got nothin’.
And having to do everything online, I feel like it’s that much harder to literally put my foot in the door.
At first, I figured it would be ideal to pursue an internship relevant to my studies, but at this point, I’ll wash dishes.
I’ll hand out flyers. I’ll be a telemarketer. I’ll work in a kennel of rabid dogs. I will do anything full-time, short of prostitution.
The whole idea started this winter while freezing my ass off alone here in Portland. My girlfriend was in a tropical paradise for two months and I decided that this summer, I needed a change. Badly.
We came up with the basics of the idea – I’d sublet my place, apply for a nice, paid, media-related internship, we’d get a room for June through August after her semester was up and we’d live happily through the summer.
There were obvious hurdles we knew we’d have to consider. I’m a broke musician and she’s a broke filmmaker. I know we’re all starving artists at heart, but New York is where I want to be after graduation, and it ain’t cheap.
I spend so much time crafting individual cover letters, stretching the stretchable details of my experience and qualifications.
I really try to make them look pretty – I mean, I would hire me.
But as of now, all I’ve received is one polite rejection letter from the internship I wanted most.
Some of the apartment search has been entertaining.
One potential roommate said, “I’m so laidback that my blood pressure is dangerously low.”
“The tenant must love cats,” he went on. “Hmm, actually, as of this afternoon the cat’s gone missing, so scratch that.”
The apartment search seems more hopeful than the job search, but it is implausible to sign onto any sublet without having a job secured beforehand.
Monster.com is cluttered and confusing. Craigslist is hard to search.
I have to say, however, that my biggest complaint of all would be the following: where do employers get off with their unpaid internships?
I’ve seen countless full-time, life-demanding internships that offer nothing. Sometimes not even credit, sometimes “unlimited espresso!” Very cute.
I don’t know about their prospective interns, but I don’t have five grand kicking around to sustain me through a summer in that city.
I pray that when the fall semester starts up, I’m sitting in the same chair writing a happy follow-up “How I Spent My Summer” article for the Free Press.
But until then, hear this (yes, this is a cry for help): if you are reading this and have any ideas or connections that could lead this poor writer in any sort of positive direction, please, please, let me know.