Dear Liberal Arts Degree,
I am writing to inform you that you are a liar and an asshole.
As you are aware, I recently graduated from the fine institution of Sarah Lawrence College with you in my hands and a dopey expression of naïve optimism on my face. As I gazed upon you with a false sense of accomplishment, you whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m here for you. Go out into the world.”
But I’m onto you, dickweed. You must have been in cahoots with the commencement speaker, because I left graduation feeling pretty damn special. In fact, I exited campus that day as confident as a Samurai. And do you know why I chose Samurai for that metaphor, Liberal Arts Degree? Because Samurai skills are pretty cool when you’re learning them, but are actually pretty fucking useless in the real world.
Part of me is impressed by your trickery. You must have felt preeetty pleased for that time you convinced me that math classes were unnecessary. “Expand your horizons”, you said. “Become more well-rounded,” you said. Well, Liberal Arts Degree, thanks to you, I can barely add double digit numbers. Oh, if you have a moment, could you do me a favor and call up Wittgenstein? Because last time I checked, him and that Cambodian basket-weaving class I took a few semesters ago weren’t planning on paying for my rent.
Oh, and remember that time we got a little drunk and you told me I had a “great imagination”? And that if “I can dream it, I can do it”? That was some real solid advice. Because you know what dreams and the imagination have in common? They both ONLY TAKE PLACE INSIDE MY HEAD. Though it is funny you said that, Liberal Arts Degree, because sometimes when I become bored, I imagine I’m Regis Philbin when he was still hosting Live! With Regis and Kelly. And last night, I had a startlingly vivid dream I was flying an elephant over the Charles River. But when I woke up, I was still waiting tables in my hometown.
Oh Liberal Arts Degree, how did it come to this? We used to be so happy together. Sometimes I look back longingly on the first few years of college, when you were so charming and inviting and we got along so well—before I knew of your lies and deceit. If only I had listened to my parents, who warned me of your negative influences. If only I hadn’t cut off all of my hair because of you, and now people weren’t constantly assuming I’m a lesbian. If only I had known then that choosing a concentration in English led to one of two career paths. If only.
But we can’t change the past, Liberal Arts Degree, and so you can go suck on one. I want you to know that I’ve not only moved on, but am in pursuit of something way more attractive. So get jealous, because it’s called a Master’s Degree—and although I’m not sure exactly how, it’s totally going to secure my future.
P.S. I recognize this is a bit of a touchy subject now, but do you think you could talk to your dad about sending me the email address of his friend, the screenwriter? I know it’s far-fetched but I’m really just trying to get my foot in the door. Thanks.