Since the economy has gone down faster than Jenna Jameson at “Action!,” for many students, the meaning of “The Gap Year” has changed from the title of a potential khaki-zombie film about the year-long attempt of a few brave leather-clad heroes to stave off an epidemic of cable knit sweaters of various, yet still somehow generic muted hues — to the potential horrifying reality of 365 days spent finding a passion, a job, an income, and — dear God, no, anything but that — an understanding of “yourself.”

The prescribed pathway to finding “yourself” has always been more knotted and confusing than ’80s hair. In elementary school, it was most important to be yourself. Then, after 12 or so years of rocking Mickey Mouse spandex and XL pull-over Starter jackets, you ventured out on the trail to becoming yourself during that lovely downstairs disaster known as “puberty.” Then, of course, the realization that becoming “yourself” was directly correlated with becoming “stacked” more or less determined the next four years of your wardrobe decisions, and, cleavage abounding, you probably entered high school with the clear understanding that the value of your self was determined by your milkshake’s ability to bring boys to the yard. No? Not you? Right. Me neither.

And now, after seven some years of defining and redefining our hair cuts and colors, our majors and Facebook interests, which side of the great popped-collar debate we support, and the number of studs in our bracelets and pearls in our ears, we’ve got a damn good idea about who we are. Right?

Of course not!

Insert the Gap Year, the magical year after college where we take time to procrastinate, simultaneously avoiding itchy business suits and neutral panty-hose, and continue our path to self discovery amongst soaring mountains of grad school applications and leaning towers of ever-increasing debt — or, in Europe.

I tried Europe, and the only thing I discovered was 24-hour nightclubs and the patience necessary for full-body painting. Sure, I’ve got some killer stories, but unless Microsoft is hiring based on ability to compare battle-scars with a Dutch dragqueen named Phyllis, my skill set remains unmarketable.

So what’s an English/American Studies/Philosophy/Film Major to do? My dear soldiers of Arts and Sciences, lay down your shields of well roundedness, and silence your interview pleas of “creative thinking” and “fast learning.” Know that while we may be near useless in this modern economy, we will never run out of cool conversation topics during the dinner parties at which we hoard enough hours-d’oeuvres to last the week. Always trust the advice of the near-personal mass Career Services emails: “we have options for the inevitable gap year.”

For example, the world will always need street performers. And your ability to sit still for 14 hours to write a thesis on the racial implications of Winnie the Pooh has certainly prepared you for the rigorous days of pretending to be a human statue. You will gain skills used in marketing, like patience and the ability to please an eclectic audience. Plus, you’ll have highly coveted face-painting abilities for the office Halloween costume contest. Trust me, S.C. Johnson will come a-runnin’.

If you’re looking for a job in sales, you should intern somewhere that develops your negotiation skills, and instills in you a profound passion for pleasing the customer. You’ll gain a competitive edge, some seedy connections, and incomparable persuasion techniques during your brief stint at the worlds second oldest profession, rooted in tradition and bolstered by job security. Imagine that unforgettable cover letter: “Dear Bose, during my brief occupation as a stripper in Arkansas …”

If you lack any semblance of a marketable skill set, you can diversify that resume with a gap year spent as a reality television contestant. You will stand out as a beacon of self-respect and social grace for crossing your legs amongst the spread eagles of the Rock of Love. A year of bobbing for nutrients in a worn-down bikini on Survivor 453: The Raft will provide you with the perseverance of a four-year varsity athlete and the toughness of a shark — the same shark you wrestled and then gutted for meat. If all else fails, convince your would-be employer that your stint in rehab during the Real World was a ploy to increase viewer ratings. What a P.R. Star!

Comm major with an engineer GPA? How about a year as a back up M.C.? You’ll hone your oral communication skills, and gain valuable experience as a member of an entourage. When asked for a specific example of a time when you overcame an obstacle with a team, you can give a play-by-play of how you,T Bone, and the rest of the Fly Highs convinced Kanye that he was not, in fact, the second coming of Christ. Look out grad school, here you come with your Ivy-league thug self!

Sure, I’m scared the gap year will find me cowering in a brown refrigerator box in the commons, wrapped in Cornell Daily Suns, and burning my diploma for heat. But, the most terrifying thing about the gap year is that it is possibly the whitest, most mid-to-upper class thing to do. The necessity of “finding ourselves” only applies to the lucky few whose main concern is not “feeding ourselves.”

Besides, what am I going to find? I can only hope that somewhere there is one little primordial-dwarf-sized Shannan, complete with proportionate body parts and a high-pitched voice spewing answers to my most soul-searching questions like, “how am I meant to support my Seven-Jean habit whilst avoiding a mid-life crisis at age 29?” And, if only I take that magical gap year to find her, I might just discover this sage Halfsie-Shannan in the bellybutton of the Frenchman off whom I’m sucking a body shot, or between the pillows of my sister’s couch.

Shannan Scarselletta is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. To offer her a job, email sscarselletta@cornellsun.com. Awkward Turtle appears alternate Mondays.