We receive many random column submissions each day, but few have ever proved to be as fascinating as what I came across this morning. It was untitled, as it was incorrectly submitted to our “Wall” rather than as a column, and it included context for his column that was, by all measures, way too real.
What you read below are the unfiltered words of a man that just needs a damn break.
Hey, Moderator. Or Editor. Or just Guy who Screens the Column Submissions. I’m going to assume you’re significantly busier than I am, so I’ll try to keep this brief.
I don’t really have a singular post grad problem to cover in this pitch (if we’re calling this a pitch) since my whole life is more or less one big post grad problem. Yes. One could say my life is, at present, a fucking mess.
Office politics? Boring cocktail parties? Sleepless, fanged HR departments? Stomach-wrenching college nostalgia?
See, unlike many of my peers, I don’t really have the chance to worry about these types of things. My struggle, since graduating from UCLA a couple years back, has been more a matter of basic survival.
Take for example my income. Right now, it clocks in at a cool 0.00 USD, owing to my summary firing from a restaurant job a month or so back. We’ll get to why, with a college degree, I was even working in a restaurant, but I assume you want to hear the firing story first.
Ok. So check this out. I got fired for–I kid you not–telling a guest that the duck we served was actually seagull, and that we not only snared these seagulls using nets on the roof; we then took them inside, raped them, tortured them, sexually humiliated them, and then ended their lives via mass stomping on the kitchen floor. Only after this, I said, did we begin preparation of the dish.
I’m not a total moron; I said this jokingly to a friend of mine who was visiting the restaurant, as I dropped off the food on his table. The only snag was, there was this like 70-year-old opera-going couple sitting one booth over. A 70-year-old opera going couple who, I would later learn, had just put in an order for the duck. They heard me, all right, and wasted little time asking management about the less-than ethical sourcing and treatment of our fowl.
This place has five-stars, and is pretty much the Third Reich as far employee standards of conduct go. So yeah. Needless to say, I didn’t see the light of another shift after the Seagull Incident.
Since then I’ve been unemployed and drifting. And the approach I’ve taken to looking for another job is…you could call it “apathetic.” This is aided in no small part by the, um, particularly non-productive habit I’ve developed recently of jerking off all the time.
As far as sheer number of sessions, I haven’t experienced a masturbation spell this bad since the summer of 2013. And that was a rough one. Living with my parents post-college, I was. Here’s a little journal entry thing I’ve got saved from that period, describing one of my favorite techniques:
I don’t know what to say really. If that kind of candid insight doesn’t make you root for this poor guy, I don’t know what to tell you. The fact that he’s willing to share a journal entry with the world says a lot. Also, the fact that he has actively recorded his thoughts in a journal does too.
Without further ado, I give you this random dude’s journal entry/column deal.
The Shower Trick
Since graduating and moving home this summer, jerking off with the shower on has, to be quite frank with you, become probably my #1 method of passing time.
The title “Shower Trick” is a little misleading, though. I don’t beat off in there. That would require leg muscle, balance. And plus all the expensive lotion I use would just get washed away. No. I leave the shower running, is all.
Why do I do this?
It’s so, when my parents go Xing back and forth with perked ears through the hallway, listening for any trace of grunting, or the telltale smack of skin on skin…they hear only the whine of pipes, the patter of water.
They imagine–I’m sure–me, their only son, who is now technically a grown adult, doing mature, innocent, hygienic things in there.
But the truth?
Truth is 9 times out of 10 I’m splayed across the edge of the sink–tongue out, beating myself into submission. Not even anywhere near the fucking shower. While gallon upon gallon of perfectly good water flows unutilized down the drain. Chipping away at local reservoirs with locked-out knees and a pulsating fist…
Alright, well there’s that. I can’t say for sure that we would have published that under different circumstances, but yeah. That was it. And here’s his pitch which concludes one of the most absurd things I’ve seen recently.
Since the Seagull Incident, I’m rapidly approaching these 2013 levels of masturbation. Maybe even surpassing them, since I don’t live at home now, and can therefore disregard stealth.
Post Grad Problems’ official logo is some dejected looking stick figure slumped over a computer desk, right? This image is actually a pretty spot-on representation of my typical day.
Except maybe note that (a) my stick figure’s dick should be out, hinting at one of my tri-daily jerk off sessions, and (b) the computer screen should have two windows open: YouJizz.com (goes without saying) and then behind that the Craigslist job postings, which each day I troll for ten or fifteen minutes to appease my parents.
So what do I plan to do with my life, you ask? Why am I using a college education to work in restaurants?
I don’t know. That’s my honest answer: I just don’t know.
I guess, like a lot of people, I kinda felt 18-23 was too early an age to commit fully to a career path that I’d have to occupy until my 60’s. So I held off for a while.
I’ve thought about grad school, but that’s money. I’ve thought about getting a Real Job, too, but that’s dedicating most of my waking hours to something I’m currently indifferent towards, and thus will for certain suck at.
Or maybe the real reason is: I fucked off so hard in college–no serious extracurriculars, no internship, no job–that any legitimate employer would be stupid to put me on the payroll.
But whatever. In conclusion, I think I can be the voice of a different breed of post grad problem-havers. Not the slightly underemployed, not the successful-but-still-nostalgic-for-the-college-days: I’m talking about the flat out fucking post-grad failures. And there’s got to be at least a few of those visiting this site, right?
Never give up. Trust your instincts. Keep us updated on the ongoing grind, and if it’s funny and the readers don’t completely hate it, we’ll make you a remote. You have our attention.
Most importantly, though, keep on jackin’..
Image via Shutterstock