I can’t believe I decided to major in English. I swear I just did it for the money.
Recent events prove that we all need to acknowledge that some majors are easier than others. Hard data about GPAs, test scores and time spent studying prove this to be the case. Or at least that’s what a really nicely dressed guy standing outside the Career Center told me. He said he had an internship with Goldman Sachs, so I knew he was a trustworthy dude. He was also very fond of the word “practical.” Which is a nice sounding word, if you think about it—lots of crackly consonant sounds.
He got me thinking about all of the things I had missed out on by studying “the humanities” (more like the hipsteranities, am I right?).
While my friends were teaching themselves engineering out of a textbook, I was reading novels. How could I waste an opportunity to form a close relationship with “Fundamentals of Heat and Mass Transfer?” I hear “Engineering Mechanics: Statics” is a life-altering read.
I could also have been a pre-med biochemistry major and memorized a lot of, according to Wikipedia, “carbon-based compounds, hydrocarbons and their derivatives.” Now, I’ll never know anything about hydrocarbons and their derivatives. My soul will always have an empty space where hydrocarbons and their derivatives could have been.
For years, I’ve masqueraded as someone who was actually learning something at Duke. Shakespeare is just as clever as Keynes, or at least just as British. But just think: I could have been doing stats problems. Or math problems. Or engineering problems. Or even physics problems. Or maybe even memorizing hydrocarbons and their derivatives.
When I was younger, it honestly never occurred to me that no one besides my fellow English majors would ever care about my knowledge of 19th-century literature. I mean, who doesn’t love Henry James? But none of my interviewers from last semester asked about “The Wings of the Dove.” They didn’t even ask me about “The Turn of the Screw.” I definitely did not see that coming. They must all have been Dickens fans. That’s probably why none of them hired me.
I blame my parents. If they cared, they’d be calling me every few days to guilt me about every decision I make, especially my major. They were probably too busy telling their friends that I was “going to law school, almost definitely.”
How do you know if you’re allowed to feel good about your major? Simple: Were any of the main characters from the original “Star Trek” experts in your field? No English majors allowed on the Starship Enterprise—we couldn’t have worn the spandex suits without irony. Econ majors are pushing it here, since they wouldn’t be all that useful in space. But then again, most econ majors have those leather folder-things, which are a definite sign of usefulness. So that’s how you know whether you can congratulate yourself about your major: The Star-Trek-or-leather-folder-thing test.
Some of my English major friends would say that I’m overreacting. They’d remind me of the old tales—legends, really—about English majors who went on to have ordinary jobs with dress codes that didn’t allow droll hats. Well, friends, I’m afraid we’re all just missing the point. It’s about what’s right, not what’s business casual. In a fair world, only people who had taken Economics 182 (Financial Accounting) would be allowed to have success of any kind. I’m pretty sure Milton Friedman said something like that once.
My fellow Phony Baloney Majors, the charade is up. Everyone knows we don’t deserve jobs even if we get them, especially if the job is aboard a spaceship. We don’t even deserve to own leather folder-things. If you still can, repent and switch to economics/natural sciences/Pratt (or public policy, if you absolutely have to). And if it’s too late—as it is for me—bear your martyrdom with grace. Chant this penance with me to remind yourself of your sins:
“Practical, practical, practical … ”
Say it slowly. Kids in Pratt tell me it’s a very soothing word.
Connor Southard is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Wednesday.
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