A job after college may be the beginning of the end

I address the following question to all readers out there who, like myself, are making the admirable attempt to be functioning members of the so-called "real world."

Not the "Real World" as in the MTV show that outlived its usefulness years ago - after I moved beyond adolescence, to be specific - but the real real world. You know, the world after college, the world of work and careers and paychecks and business reports. My single, crucial, vital question being simply:

Chris Farah Farah's Faucet

Is this it?

I was thrilled a couple weeks ago to finally land what had been so elusive for such a long time - my first post-graduation job. What a relief, I thought. I finally have some kind of guarantee that I won't be homeless for the rest of my life. I finally know that getting my English degree wasn't a complete waste of time.

I finally have an office job.

I know, I know. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of. But it was a job. A job with a large corporation. And what red-blooded American wouldn't jump at such an opportunity? After all, I thought, this is the real world, and the real world means ... office job. Right?

And so I headed to my first day, whistling merrily as I walked up to the door, excitedly anticipating the new things I would learn in my real-world office job. I would climb the corporate ladder. I would make a lot of money.

It didn't really matter what kind of company I was working for, or even what I was doing; I was working. That was all that mattered. The future was bright. The sky was bright. The birds were chirping. I was the star of my very own Disney movie.

I'm not really sure what the weather was like when I left the office that fateful day. But for all I cared, the skies may as well have been cloudy and bleak. Tornadoes could have been whirling through the sky, dragging all the squawking birds along with them. Zippity-stinkin'-doo-dah.

Some could say I spent my day in an office, but in my mind, I wasted eight hours of life in the bowels of business hell.

There were no windows in this place. Perhaps sunlight would have reminded workers how happy they would be on the "outside."

Fluorescent lighting beat down on my psyche. The annoying squeaks and chirps of fax machines, phones and IBM-compatible computers punctured my eardrums and drilled into my brain.

Office people have given up on life. Given up on being creative. Office people live only for weekends and going home each day.

And what's worse is that office people actually have a sense of humor about their fates. The god of the business office is a cartoon character named Dilbert. Dilbert has no mouth. He has no pupils. He is simply a slave to the system.

Every office worker, practically without fail, has some kind of Dilbert paraparaphernalia in their 'cube' (office lingo for "cubicle" or "prison cell"). Almost as if to say, "Ha-ha, look at us! We have boring, repetitive jobs! We have no dreams or hopes! We squint when we see sunlight! Whoopee!"

I've been at this job -- it's just for the summer, right? -- for two weeks now. And you know, somehow it isn't quite as bad anymore. Somehow I've gotten used to the fluorescent lighting and the fax machines. I saw a Dilbert cartoon the other day and laughed.

I look in the mirror, and my pupils and mouth are fading on a daily basis.

Am I gasping my last breaths of creativity? Am I conforming? Is this it?

Screw you, Dilbert. I'll take my sunshine any day.

Ñ Chris Farah can be reached at cjfarah@umich.edu.

06-01-98