Confessions Of A College PLRG

Ladies, it looks like we should count our blessings. We seem to have graduated right before stuff got REAL bad. Let us sit back and be thankful that we even have jobs in this shitty economy. Doing slave labor is better than doing nothing at all!

Here's a note from a College PLRG, who reminds us all that it could be worse!

PLRGs out there, my do I feel your pain. While I cannot provide any of you with the bailout checks you so desire, I can shed some light on being a PLRG. Unlike you all, I am not a member of the PLRG society. No, no, no. I am a PLRGWNF. For those of you who are not familiar with this anagram, I am a Poor Little Rich Girl With No Future. :) As of now, I have no job, no prospects, no scheduled interviews, nothing. Lazy? Nope, wrong again! On the contrary, I have been emailing my polished little fingers off day and night in an attempt to “make contacts” or “network” as my mother so subtly suggests is the only way I will ever get a job. And are these emails met with kind “Sorry, what with the economy, we’re not looking to hire anyone new right now” responses? Nope. Are they met with brutally honest “I’m trying to keep my own job and there’s no way I’m going to waste my time trying to help you out” responses? No, of course not. Instead, I receive nothing. Nada. No response at all. Actually, I take that back. I did receive one reply in the past month that said a mere two words:

HIRING FREEZE.

So now, with 61 days of college left (but who’s counting?) I sit here reading this blog and wonder, would it really be THAT BAD to be a PLRG? The answer? DUH. But it can’t be worse than being a PLRGWNF…

I beg of you, don’t attack me with comments like “Enjoy your last days of college” or “Relish in the time you have living off your parents” because trust me, I am. But when you put that designer top back on the rack or walk by that nail salon and try desperately to ignore the glorious smell of the polish remover and top coat, just picture me and all my fellow PLRGWNFs living at home with our parents. Imagine us schlepping into the city via train in order to have a decent Friday night and passing out on someone’s couch or worse, imagine us on the 1:53 train while you all peacefully pass out in your conveniently located Murray Hill apartments. Doesn’t seem so bad now does it?

xxx,
PLRGWNF