fandomhigh | Career Counseling: Exploring Your Opportunities in Today's Workforce [Friday, period 1]

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career choices

Career Counseling: Exploring Your Opportunities in Today's Workforce [Friday, period 1]

"Ew," Cheryl greeted the students as they filed in. "Um. I mean hi."

She'd had it right the first time, actually. She was just being nice. Ish.

"Whatever. I'm Cheryl, and that's Pam," she said, waving vaguely towards the other woman in the room. "Professors Tunt and Poovey, if you're feeling formal or whatever. I still think I should get to make you call me the Archduchess of Canterbuttfuckery, but fine. Welcome to...shit. Pam, what'd you call this one?"

Because she'd had no part in the naming or planning process, as usual.

Pam might need a second, because Pam was huffing rubber cement. What? Cheryl made it look like fun. It seemed better than the prospect of teaching these kids sober, and it wasn’t like any of the administration appeared to give a fuck what they did.

“Oooooooooh man that’s gonna clear my sinuses,” Pam shuddered. “Don’t say ‘buttfuckery’ in class, bird legs. I don’t remember what I called this one. Something about career counseling and the future of the modern workplace? Hey, how’s come I’ve always gotta name them?”

Welcome to your teachers, guys. They were always like this, except when they were worse.

"Because I'd probably say something about buttfuckery in the title and then you'd get mad at me!" Cheryl rightly pointed out. "Don't go through all my glue. I'm due for another dose."

She had a schedule to keep here, you guys.

"Anyway. Welcome to class. We're gonna talk about careers or...whatever you wanna do to make money but not call it your 'career.'" She totally put the air-quotes there, guys. "Like, before I came here, I was the personal secretary of the most powerful woman in secret-agency-running -- or however Ms. Archer wants us to think of her, anyway -- but only because I wanted a little extra scratch. I'm actually an heiress so I don't have to work. That's a pretty good career to aspire towards, by the way: heiressing. It's cushy as fuck."

Take notes, kids.

“Not all of us get to be heiresses, dumbass,” Pam said. Affectionately. They were totally besties, guys. “And you lot aren’t going to get to be what you think you will, either. I mean. Talk to a bunch of eight-year-olds and they wanna be ballerinas and astronauts. You talk to those same people at 35 and it’s middle management, accountant, secretary, still in that dead-end retail job … not a firefighter in the bunch.”

"The ballerinas are all dead by then," Cheryl added helpfully. "35 is like 107 in ballerina years."

She saw Black Swan, okay? (And had loved it for every single wrong reason you can think of.)

"Anyway." She eyed the class, small though it was. "We're doing intros today, on that note. What's your name -- I recognize you already, Mr. Roboto, but you can still say hi -- and what do you want to be when you grow up?"

So that she and Pam could gently burst all your career-oriented bubbles. Except not gently at all.

Pam and Cheryl were totally going to tell you your real career path. If you were lucky, that might end up being your nickname all semester!!!

… wait. Not “lucky.” What’s that other word? You know the one I mean.

[also I am sorry that Cheryl and Pam are ableist assholes. THIS IS YOUR WARNING THAT THEY ARE TERRIBLE PEOPLE.]

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Who the hell are you, and what do you want to do with your life?

No pressure or anything.

"My name is Barry."

No he was not going to give them his last name as ammunition for their nicknames.

"And as long as I'm not buttfuck crazy by the time I'm 27 I'll be happy."

He might regret using the term buttfuck.

Cheryl eyed him critically, crossing her arms.

"Hm. How old are you now?" It was important to figure out how many years of supposed sanity he had left.

(And don't worry, Barry, she hadn't read the roster, so she had no idea about the last name. But Pam probably did.)

"Seventeen. I turn 18 in September," Barry said with a shrug. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you have to get through like, nine and a half or whatever years without going crazy," Cheryl said, like it was obvious. "And so we have to figure out what the fuck you're going to do for that like, decade. Duh."

She rolled her eyes, and added, "By the way, you probably won't make it. I mean, most people crack in college." She had! Though, really, she'd been cracked before the whole stalking incident, anyway.

"I'm already self-employed," Barry admitted. "And I probably won't go to college unless I need to hide what I do on a daily basis. I'm not even sure why I'm signed up for this class."

~~Other than to enjoy the sweet crack that Cheryl and Pam provide.~~

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"Why just not before 27?" Pam asked. "Is there some kinda inheritance you get, but only if you're not on the ward by your 27th birthday?"

And now Barry had given up any idea of being a nice guy in this classroom.

"Yes," Barry admitted. "I'm going to be richer than fuck. And yes, I'm holding."

What? She was going to get around to that question eventually.

"Skinny McGee over there is rich as fuck," Pam said. "It's sweet as hell. Don't buy a pet ocelot, though. Those fuckers'll cut you up."

Cheryl was the worst pet owner ever.

"So ... what are you holding?" Pam asked. The rubber cement wasn't doing much for her, and her weed stash was dangerously low.

"Some good stuff," Barry replied. "Though I won't have anything until next week. Trust me. You'll love it."

Re: Introductions! [05/09]

holyshitsnacks.livejournal.com - 2014-05-10 02:44 (UTC) - Expand

"I'm Felicity," she started. "And I want a comfortable financial situation at a fairly young age and not have a jail record?"

"Don't we all?" Cheryl sighed, smiling at her. "I mean, that's my situation, right there -- total financial security by age thirty, and no jail time!"

Because she'd been institutionalized instead.

"But you need to figure out how you're gonna get there. The glasses are going to make it hard for you to interact with the public," she mused.

Sorry, Felicity. Your glasses were super cute ~~and I want them~~, but...Cheryl.

"The cops are totally racist," Pam said.

Pam, you were white, FYI.

"All the people who are rich young are usually douches," she added. "Like, doctors, lawyers, all the people who have to work their asses off to make that money and don't get to spend it."

OH. INSPIRATION STRUCK.

"Trophy wife!" she said. "You're hot enough for it!"

These women seemed like they'd spent far more time in a tavern than was healthy and he didn't understand two sentences out of every three, but they made Anders laugh. That helped.

"I'm Anders," he said. "And I hadn't thought about the kind of job you mean. I don't need much, though. I can support myself killing demons and looting the corpses. Maybe heal a little on the side."

"...huh." Cheryl tilted her head thoughtfully. She had totally pegged him as a pothead, what with the hair and all, but apparently he was into harder stuff? Or else he was literally some sort of priest and grave-robber, which Cheryl found totally inappropriately interesting. "Do you come across a lot of...demons that you can kill and loot?"

"Not where I was living, but travel enough and I would," Anders allowed. "They tell me there are places in the Free Marches absolutely crawling with them."

He probably wasn't helping the impression he was on hard drugs any.

"What's a Free March?" Cheryl asked slowly. He was either on hard drugs -- yay! -- or he was crazy. She didn't really care, but either way he kind of reminded her of some of the guys she'd come across when she was on the ward.

Ah. Nostalgia.

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Re: Introductions! [05/09]

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"My name is Joker, not 'Mr. Roboto'. Jeff Moreau, actually, if you actually pay attention to your class roster, which..." He chuckled. "Okay, yeah, that was my bad. Almost thought you were competent, there. Sorry, won't happen again."

He grinned at them. "Anyway. I'm going to be the best pilot in the galaxy. Not a good pilot, not a great pilot, but the Best. Damn. Pilot. in the galaxy. So take that and stuff it."

Cheryl was going to say something mean about the whole 'competent' thing, but then her normal nasty smile fell away, and she actually looked concerned for a minute.

"Oh. That's sad," she said in a hushed sort of voice. "I mean, don't you think you should...I mean, don't they have jobs that are just for robots?"

Because it was tragic to her that he wanted to do a human job. Tragic.

Joker just blinked at that, not sure how to respond. "I... what? How is that sad???" Seriously, he was confused. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life assembling cars," he told her. "Or going back in time to kill the mother of the leader of the resistance. I've got better things to do."

"Maybe like, work as a trash compactor?" Cheryl suggested gently (for her.) "Or like something like that little robot from Space Battles who fixes ships and stuff and beeps all over the place? He seems like he likes his job okay!"

Yeah, sorry, Joker. There's no going back from convincing Cheryl you're the Terminator.

"Aw, man, you don't need a job!" Pam enthused, excitedly. "You can get all kinds of money from the government for being crippled!"

The way she announced this, you could freely assume Joker had won some kind of lottery.

"My uncle Jim got his hand caught in a thresher once? Ripped his arm clean off, right from the shoulder socket. POP! They gave him so much money for that shit he went straight to Vegas and blew most of it on hookers."

Some of that might have been a settlement. It all blurred together, for Pam.

"... And then Aunt Betty divorced him."

As you do.

"Uhhhhhhh-huh. Yeah. That 'so much money' he got? Was from his life insurance. Government handouts are a fall-back option, not a first choice!" Joker facepalmed. "Plus, you know, real role model, there!"

"Who, my uncle?" she asked. "He's not a role model. He's just a one-eyed drunk that lives with his brother now that Aunt Betty kicked him out."

The point made plenty of noise as it sailed over his head.

"'Sides, he gets a check from the government every month for not having an arm," she added. "They'd have to shell out more if you've got fucked-up legs. He could still probably work if he wasn't so damn drunk all the time. People can do lots of shit with just one arm."

Re: Introductions! [05/09]

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"I...um...I'm Kathy?" Her brain was still rebooting here. "I'm not entirely sure what I want to be yet. I was thinking a doctor, but that's more something my parents have suggested my whole life than anything else. But I do what to be someone that helps people!"

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