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More Than a T-Shirt
I write this from my law school dorm room, four months removed from my AmeriCorps*NCCC graduation. My purpose is to announce that as soon as I finish a couple more semesters of school and acquire enough information to learn how to win a case, I am going to sue AmeriCorps for the $75,000 that it cost me last year. Plus interest. The details of the complaint are a bit sketchy to me at this point, but it will have something to do with the fact that AmeriCorps robbed me of my greed, selfishness, and general desire to accumulate as much dough as humanly possible so that I might own a private island before turning 40.
I graduated from an Ivy League undergraduate business program in 2000 with a much-coveted degree in finance. During senior job recruitment, I charmed my way into an offer with an investment bank in New York City and was slotted to begin work in July. The starting salary was the aforementioned $75,000. I had officially "made it." The dream had come true. All I had to do was stay on the track I was on, and life was assured to bring me happiness and riches, redundant terms of course. Not too shabby for a former band geek from Jersey.
And then, without warning, AmeriCorps came and blindsided me.
A few months before college graduation, I came across a pamphlet that spoke of this great way to spend a year doing public service. "The domestic Peace Corps," they called the program. I can't really say what made me fill out the application. Maybe my Speculative Markets professor irked me that week and I was subconsciously striking out at the finance world. So one thing led to another, and suddenly I found out I'd been accepted into the program. And then I started thinking about how great a year off would be between college and work. A time to recharge some batteries, learn a little about myself, see parts of the country I wouldn't otherwise see. It might be fun. Before I knew it, I was arranging with the bank so that I could start work with the following year's class, and I packed my car for the AmeriCorps*NCCC campus in Charleston, S.C.
Don't worry, my parents had only mild embolisms.
"It's okay, Dad, the cushy job in Manhattan will be there when I get back." "It's okay, Mom, there are other Jewish kids south of the Mason-Dixon Line." "It's okay, you two, I have no intention of jumping off the fame/fortune track-I'm just taking a little rest stop." "No, I am not on drugs."
I was wrong about one thing. It wasn't a rest stop. I worked my butt off. AmeriCorps*NCCC sent me all over the Southeast completing projects like Habitat for Humanity, forest firefighting, wilderness reclamation, and FEMA crisis relief. I worked in the heavy sun; I worked in the freakish cold. I had 14-hour days of physical labor in which my only reward was a night of sleep on a cabin floor so that I could be refreshed for the next 14-hour day. I discovered 347 different kinds of dirt. I got some sort of strain of poison ivy that only gets mad at you when you rub Calomine lotion on it. If I had collected all my splinters throughout the year, I would have had enough raw material to add a gazebo to my parents' deck. I learned that dealing with a group of 10-year-olds for two hours can be far more exhausting than 14 hours of physical labor in the sun.
But at some point over those ten months, I realized something of great importance. I was loving every minute of it. I was waking up every day excited about what I was doing. And believe me, it wasn't the actual physical work that was motivating me. I understand that there are lots of people out there who genuinely enjoy building porch fences, and landscaping wilderness trails, and planting trees, and laying down cement. For those of you who are drawn to those sorts of activities, AmeriCorps*NCCC is the place for you. But for those of you who are like me and would rather ingest cleaning fluid than perform any of those tasks, then AmeriCorps*NCCC can still be the place for you—because there's a very good chance that you will learn, as I did, that having a job that matters becomes the only thing that matters.
So now I'm hooked. Now I need to do something with my life that makes a difference. No, my career path will never again require me to know the difference between a Chop-Saw and a Skill-Saw (which, incidentally, has to do with the degree of scar tissue they produce). And I will never have another job that requires me to perform morning exercises—unless you count running to catch the No.6 train with a bagel and coffee in my hands. Yes, I turned down that banking job and traded in my calculator for a legal pad. I know, I know, becoming a lawyer doesn't exactly sound like I've chosen to serve humanity. Lawyers are evil, right? But as it turns out-and trust me, I've done extensive research on this—there are a few lawyer mensches out there, people with integrity and honor. The field of public-interest law is an area where I can be challenged, make a difference, and love what I'm doing.
Which brings me to my lawsuit. The facts show that before AmeriCorps*NCCC, I was well on my way toward reaching my champagne wishes and caviar dreams. After AmeriCorps, I've racked up so much law school debt that I'11 be lucky to afford a Bud and some Doritos. I just accepted a summer job where I'11 be representing foster children involved in litigation. You think I'm going to be able to afford an island on what I make working with foster kids? I'm asking you AmeriCorps! Who's going to pay for my island now? Who's gonna pay for the beach houses, the yachts, the Armani underwear? I gave a year of my life and all I got was a lousy T-shirt—and a conscience. |
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