As the requests roll in from the land of Glenbrook North, I've considered charging $50 per letter. I mean no skin off their backs, right?
I've written quite a few letters of recommendation in my short career as a teacher, since I taught juniors for three out of the four years of teaching. When I'd write letters at Payton (translation: when I was still employed), I felt a slight longing and jealousy directed toward all of the amazing things these cream-of-the-crop students would accomplish, toward how much more money they would make than me, and I felt woe-as-me over the fact that I would remain this lowly English teacher while they took over the world. How did all of that money and time spent on my education lead me to a career writing letters for young people to actually make money and a name for themselves? Yeah, yeah, yeah, teaching is important work and all of that crap.
I would joke with these students at the end of the year that I hoped they would remember me...and hire me one day. I was only partly joking.
Well, now it's worse. Way worse. I am writing letters of recommendation for students from Glenbrook North -- students who will mostly go on to big state universities and who will join sororities and fraternities and land high-paying jobs based on all of the connections that they had before they were born. Not that these aren't nice kids or that I don't wish them the best. The real difference in writing the letters this time around is that I am no longer a lowly English teacher who decided to take all of that education and turn it into a job that political candidates often put in the same category as nurses and truck drivers (not that there's anything wrong with those professions, but you know what I mean). No, this time around, I am 100% unemployed. Looking into jobs that I am as qualified for as a 23-year-old, or, worse, an 18-year-old. I know, I know -- it's all part of this move and figuring out how I want my life to be and trying new things and getting out of teaching. But, holy crap, right now, it sucks. Right now, I hate that I am jealous of these almost college kids who have their whole lives ahead of them. I know I sound like a bitter old crotchedy person who should have a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. (BTW, I just googled the word "crotchedy" to make sure I was spelling it correctly, and wouldn't you know it, here is the definition and sample usage according to the online urban dictionary: "Crotchedy: A grumpy person who has no life. That teacher is a crotchedy old lady." Well, fuck me.
Maybe I should start stripping like Diablo Cody. Maybe I should change my name like Diablo Cody did. Oh, wait, does that mean I'm now jealous of Diablo Cody? At least she's out of college.