During my undergraduate days, I subscribed to the idiotic notion that I should treat college as a time to "follow my interests" and "deepen my understanding of the human condition." As a result, I made a mistake that will haunt me forever - I majored in English, thus cementing my permanent status as one of the world's least employable losers. Indeed, the only losers less employable than English majors are mimes, Steven Seagal, and philosophy majors.
Still, my biggest mistake wasn't so much majoring in English as not recognizing what a big mistake majoring in English was until the middle of my senior year, when it was too late to switch to something more lucrative, like, say, pre-law, or pre-multibillionaire.
I discovered the immensity of my predicament when I visited the office of career services to ask what kind of post-graduation job they'd lined up for me. Since attending my college cost roughly the gross domestic product of Luxembourg (per semester), I'd assumed that the office of career services automatically secured each student a cushy, seven-figure job, regardless of such trivialities as "competence," or "work ethic."
The on-duty career counselor, however - a bubbly woman wearing a smart mauve pantsuit - laughed at my question (as if she thought I was joking) and handed me a sheet of paper covered front and back with multiple-choice questions. "In all seriousness," she said, "the first step toward gainful employment is filling out the appropriate survey."
And so, feeling duped - I wouldn't have bothered with college if I'd known a bachelor's degree didn't guarantee lifelong employment and vast wealth - I filled out the appropriate survey, answering every question with either a "no" or a "not sure." Had I interviewed for any jobs? No. Had I applied for any jobs? No. What about graduate school? Had I at least applied to graduate school? No. Why in the name of Richard Branson had I so thoroughly sabotaged my chances of becoming a multibillionaire? Not sure.