Welcome to Cornell Diaries, where we print the anonymous recorded lives of Cornell students. While The Sun maintains the confidentiality of each writer, all facts have been verified and all diaries record the truth.

Wednesday , September  15th

11:00 a.m.: I feel like James Bond. Classic. Black suit, red tie. Too bad every other person in this room is dressed in the same exact outfit. I am so fucked.

11:10 a.m.: After speaking with Yelp! and being told that I need to take more classes focused on one subject, I feel like I’ve wasted $120,000 and 4 years of my life. I should’ve been an engineer. Fuck them.

 8:00 p.m.: Me and the guys head out to Dunbars. Group Therapy, baby. That’s exactly what I need. I need to drink away my poor qualifications and unqualified resume.

11:45 p.m.: Fuck you suits! Fuck. You.

Wednesday , September  27th

3:30 p.m.: After last week’s sad excuse of a job hunting experience, I am more determined than ever to get the job I’m qualified for. First step: I will stop applying to companies I’m not qualified for. No, I’m not a fucking engineer. I’m tired of getting “Application Declined” from those egotistical assholes.

4:30 p.m.: Another hour of scouring the ads. I feel like I’m in a strange position. I’m underqualified for the great jobs, but I’m overqualified to work at anything else. I wish I could pick “Independent Career” like they have “Independent Studies” as a major. That’d make things easier.

9:00 p.m.: To the bar.

Wednesday , October  6th

1:45 p.m.:  I finally got a shot at outshining the competition. That’s right; I get to go on an interview. Sure, it’s not exactly the job I want, but they do have a nice 401k plan. I’m not gonna turn down that!

2:00 p.m.: Fuck, I need a new suit. I should get that today.

2:45 p.m.: Down at The Commons, I run into my friend. He needs a suit too. Thankfully, it’s not for the same job, or else I would’ve thrown that asshole in front of a TCAT bus. That’s a way to get rid of the competition.

2:50 p.m.: Greg and I enter the shop and we look at the colors. I just want to wear my black suit, but I have to show this company that I own more than one suit. Greg decides on a grey and I decide to copy him. Grey isn’t that ugly.

8:30 p.m.: I feel accomplished and deserve another Group Therapy. Greg and I toast to suits we can both wear at our jobs we are going to get. I need to look up when that interview is …later.

Wednesday , October  12th

8:00 a.m.: Today’s the big day. Big, nerve-racking day. I’ve been on interviews before, so this shouldn’t be too bad.

8:30 a.m.: Stopped off to get a coffee at CTB. No way would I drink decaf today. Decaf is for assholes.

8:35 a.m.: GOD DAMMNIT! I spilled my coffee on my shirt. Shit.

8:45 a.m.: I rush into my house and look in my closet for a new shirt. All of my dress shirts seem to be in the laundry.

8:50 a.m.: I dig through my laundry pile looking for a shirt. I have one more white one, but it’s worn. I wonder if I wear extra cologne if it will cover the smell of B.O.?

9:00 a.m: Walking out of the house, I’m wearing the smelly shirt. Smelly is better than dirty. And maybe the interviewer will have a cold and not be able to smell anything. I’ll take my chances.

9:15 a.m.: I walk into Barnes Hall and immediately notice the number of suits. It’s like the career fair all over again. Fuck I hate this. I check my watch and notice that I’m on time.

9:25 a.m.: The interviewer calls my name. It’s go time. I flash a smile and give a nice, strong handshake. This is my time.

9:50 a.m.: I nailed it. Completely rocked the shit out of that interview. I feel like kicking the air, but that isn’t dignified. I want to celebrate tonight.

9:00 p.m.: It may not be Group Therapy, but I’m pretty sure special occasions like this call for a bar night. My friends are still going ape-shit over job stuff. I can just tune them out and smile knowing that I’m going to get a job. Maybe not that one, but a job none-the-less.