For some students the decision is easy. Law students become Lawyers, Medical students become Doctors, Engineering students become Engineers and Business students become the next batch of cringe-worthy Apprentice applicants (naturally). As a third year English student, I’m not finding choosing a suitable career path quite as straightforward – I don’t want to be a teacher and I
definitely don’t want to be a librarian.
My 15 years in education have involved more new career directions than Hyde Park break-ins; although similarly forceful and ambitious in intent, their outcomes rarely leave me feeling anything but deep despair and hopelessness. As a pro-active individual, I’ve taken numerous steps to find work experience in an attempt to try and remedy my apparent lack of occupational calling. So far, my luck has been somewhat abysmal and I’ve just about written off every career prospect even remotely feasible.
At the tender age of 15 I tried a week at my local hospital. With a face full of spots, a body full of hormones and the words ‘Amy is not a natural scientist’ still ringing in my ears from a previous parents evening, I strutted through the doors determined to discover my calling as a medical genius. No such luck. While I enjoyed customizing my lab coat with some of Claire’s Accessories’ finest badges, I found the hospital atmosphere too depressing for my fragile soul. Seeing people seriously ill (and some stains I knew for definite weren’ttomato ketchup) wasn’t an experience I could handle and I decided nursing would never be my vocation.
Next I spent a week as a journalist at my local paper. Regretfully, my hometown is no Beverly Hills and I turned out to be no Perez Hilton. Four too many pet interviews pushed me well over the edge in that week; did my local citizens really want to read about Sid the budgies’ birthday? Or Terry the rabbits’ great escape from number 15? While I enjoyed asking copious meaningless questions, my obvious lack of being able to listen to (or remember) any coherent answers left my stories severely hindered come typing-up day. Although this wasn’t a problem for me when transcribing Terry’s story, I knew newspaper journalism wasn’t for me.
Aged 18, I tried helping out in a primary school with a friend who was, and I quote, ‘born to teach’- fatal error. The first day went extraordinarily well; I was bonding with the children, mothering plastic babies and re-enacting every scene from Hannah Montana the Movie. A week later I returned and my fortune changed drastically. The 9am bell rang and one little girl ran up to my friend for a very moving ‘I’ve missed you Miss’ hug. The girl’s eyes met mine and without a second thought I opened up my arms expecting the same. She looked at me blankly, turned, and ran, virtually sprinted away. I was mortified. As time went on I hated teaching; too many children crying for no apparent reason and falling over like Bambi on ice - I’ve seen enough of that in Mission’s smoking garden and I’d rather not relive it daily in a workplace.
A criminal lawyer: a well-paid, well-renowned, well-respected occupation. No doubt it is, but after my week in a criminal law firm earlier this year, I don’t want to be one. Admittedly I loved the tense atmosphere, the high drama and the rush of being seen as a ‘trainee lawyer’, but while I really wanted to want to be a lawyer, I just didn’t. Take the criminals I talked to every day; Jeremy Kyle rejects (pre-Graham counselling) they were, Wentworth Miller look-a-likes they definitely were not. I became increasingly tired of being leered at and sworn at and I hated the manipulative and calculating side of actually being a lawyer. Even with the job role aside, the dress code is so much more circus freak than fashion week; the wigs, the capes, need I say more?
Most recently, my holiday job as an Accounts Assistant/Pro Receipt Sellotaper compelled me to consider something I NEVER thought I would; Accountancy. Experience – check. Enthusiasm – check. Mathematical ability – very questionable. I spent hours on applications forms, but it turns out you have to be reasonably good at maths to have any chance at attaining accountancy graduate schemes. You also can’t ask your Dad to take the numerical tests for you because chances are, he’ll probably fail too. With three tests taken and three tests failed, accountancy seems highly improbable.
As unlikely as it may seem and although with graduation looming I’m beginning to panic, there is a message to take from my ramblings. I don’t regret the hospital, the budgie interviews, the primary school, the courtroom freak-show or even the failed maths tests. I may not know what I want to do but without my work experience woes, I wouldn’t know what I definitely don’t want to do, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful. Work experience really was worth doing even if I did end up sprinting out the door at 5pm. It’s surely better to know what I don’t like doing now than in 10 years’ time when there is no going back. I would recommend anyone to take a week in Easter to do some work experience, and now would be a good time to apply. Even if you don’t enjoy it, I guarantee you won’t regret it.
