Spring Break or The Day that Doctoral Poverty Broke Me and I Started Looking for a Real Job

Your Typical Graduate Student

When I think about graduate school, I think about the novel Confederacy of Dunces. If you have never read Confederacy of Dunces, it is a story about a 30 year old man who has been in graduate school for about 75 years and who still lives with his mom. The story is awful and tragic and kinda funny and he is a total toolbox. When I started graduate school, I promised myself I would never be that guy. And people, I think we’re on the precipice. 

I shall now relate to you the progression of the breaking down of the part of the human brain known as “Pride” as told through spring break vacations. 

*Year negative one through negative six of doctoral studies: I am a teacher. My bestest friend D—and I would go on vacations together pretty regularly. Sometimes they were good adventures. Sometimes they were crazypants adventures. Those are stories for another day, some of them with burned skin in broken Spanish. Some of them with cinnamon tequila shots (don’t do it!) and crappy Vegas hotels. But always, always we would split the bill 50-50. 

*Year zero of doctoral studies: I decide to give up my reasonably paying teacher job for a doctoral program that pays bootie, and D- is now working as a school administrator making a beautiful salary, not unlike what people our age should be making. 

*Year one of doctoral studies: I can’t afford a vacation, but I totally refuse all help. The closest we get to a vacation is going to an Indian Casino. I wouldn’t even take $20 dollars to gamble with.  I have my pride you know. 

*Year three of doctoral studies: I agree to go on a Jamaican vacation with D-- after extensive discussion. I really don’t think this is right. But I think it will be fun, and I pay for my plane ticket to help assuage my guilt. 

The Kind of Cruise I Could Afford

*Year six of doctoral studies: No end or vacation in site, D- mentions that her mom doesn’t want to go on a cruise with her and wonders if I would like to go. I do not even let her finish her sentence. I offer to pay for nothing. Doctoral studies have officially broken my spirit and made me a greedy mooch ready to syphon off of other people’s vacations. The shift is complete. 

*Year six and one day of doctoral studies: Jen starts to look for a real job. She begins to dream again about paying her own phone bill and owning a car that was made in this century. 

So friends, here lies the tale of how a once independent young lady turned her bestest friend into a sugar mama. And then, just possibly, she started to get her shit together.