Humanities finalists ask: “Now what?”

Reports indicate widespread panic following the inevitable arrival of post-university life.

Humanities finalists ask: “Now what?”

The Hoar learns that in a scene not far removed from avant-garde classic, Finding Nemo (2003), humanities finalists are faced with the pertinent question: ‘Now what?’

‘It could be worse.’ One English literature student told us. ‘I could be dead. But I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life.’

Indeed, amidst dueling for library seats and platforming-for-no-platforming-and-platforming-some-more-again — many humanities students find themselves unable to secure a graduate job.

One spritely political-dance student, who refused to be named, seemingly embraced the ambiguity of his fate:

Employment means conforming to the neoliberal agenda, man. I’m not going to sell out to ‘the man’, man.

When asked how one hopes to pay the bills — whilst protesting against the ‘man’ that quite literally heats his house — we were told, understandably, to ‘piss off’.

A few, however, have faired better. Many History finalists have found that thanks to the overwhelmingly transferable skills offered in core module ‘The European World: 1500-1800’, they are now batting off copious job offers from high-flying employers.

‘They say my grasp of peasant repression will prepare me for the onset of being shat on in the City’. Billy Johnson remarked. ‘Despite stressing I’m more of a Calvinist, they won’t listen. I just really like early modern pottery’. Others, however, have opted to celebrate their descent into the murky depths of financial services. ‘When I was kid I always wanted to be an Incoming Financial Audit Analyst.’ James Bulloch told us. ‘Spaceman? Fireman? Indiana Jones? Nah… not for me mate.’

‘The man’ sadly declined to comment.

In an alternative move, some students have turned to postgraduate study in a vague attempt to assert control over their crumbling lives. Despite bemoaning her study of sixteenth-century picnic blankets for the entire duration of her degree; Sarah Whitefield suddenly finds her course ‘interesting’ as she ‘might do a masters.’ When asked if merely prolonging the drudgery of the ‘real world’ — at the cost of her father’s bank balance ­—  was the impetus for this renaissance; she politely refused to comment.

Others, downtrodden by rejection emails, have simply resorted to sarcastically proclaiming: ‘I didn’t even want the job anyway’. Before mumbling something about ‘going traveling’, binge watching Netflix and/or sobbing in a dark room for an unspecified period of time.

With the deadline now passed for top acronym-laden employers — and all hope of impressing your nan with household names KPMG, PwC, NWA and SPECTRE all but lost — the Hoar reminds its readers that the inherently less trendy alternative, JSA, is always there to keep you warm at night. Or perhaps, you could simply refuse to gratify self-worth from impressing people you hate with a job you don’t particularly want in the first place.

The Hoar reminds its readers that the inherently less trendy alternative, JSA, is always there to keep you warm at night.

‘The man’ sadly declined to comment.