Young life
Quitting my first job
by Serena Smith
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ADAM Q
Iwas at my desk in my childhood bedroom when I completed my master’s degree last summer. I hit the “submit” button, sat back in my chair for a moment, then padded downstairs to put the kettle on. All in all, it was anticlimactic.
In normal circumstances, I might have spent the next few weeks lounging in the Grantchester sun and drinking lukewarm, tinned G&Ts with my coursemates. But this was 2020, and I was nestled in my family home in the Midlands, over 100 miles away from university. With little else to do, I started looking for my first job.
I was apprehensive about entering the world of work. Unlike some of my peers, I had not filled every summer holiday with internships, nor had I signed up to a million different clubs in a bid to make myself more employable. But I was quietly confident too: I had achieved two degrees, sat on the English Society committee and written for various student papers. I knew it would be difficult to get a job, but I thought I had done enough to land one without too much fuss.