While we traipse about our campuses with books in tow walking in the opposite direction from the class we should be attending, the world is our oyster. It's only when we graduate and have to pay off our student loans that we realize the four-year underwater basket-weaving degree we received only proves us qualified to work at Starbucks.
We shuffle around for a few years in disgruntled confusion. Finally, we decide to step off our pedestal into the world of anonymous, cubicle-enclosed office work. It's miserable. We wonder how anyone could do it for ten years, let alone forty. We desperately want to be doing something else but can't come up with a better idea.