How to not get a job in journalism
So, to what I’m sure is no one’s great surprise, I didn’t wind up pursuing a career in journalism. Still, I’ve been enjoying everyone else’s posts, so in case you were interested I figured I should introduce you all to the glamorous world of contract archaeology.
For anyone who has no clue what contract archaeology is – I didn’t until last year – it’s the kind of archaeological field work that the government hires people (through consulting firms) to do when they need to do construction in an area and don’t want to rip through a piece of history. It involves a lot of survey and shovel testing, but not a lot of excavation. Also, it involves being hired for one job at a time, and constantly searching for work. This is my second contract job for the summer, and at the moment I’m staying in Branson, Mo., while my eight-person crew surveys a portion of Mark Twain National Forest.
Every day I go out into the forest with three liters of water on my back and walk roughly 18 miles looking and shovel testing for potential archaeological sites. I cover myself in sunscreen and 100-percent Deet, and when I get home I shower with Tecnu and drink beer with the rest of the crew. There are probably enough toxins in my system right now to qualify me for rehab somewhere. On a good day, it’s getting paid to hike around with your friends and look for history eroding out of a hillside. On a bad day, it’s a sucktabulous death march in 106 degree heat through a poison ivy-, tick-, spider- and bramble-choked hellhole with no breeze.
Right now I’m staying in a haunted Super 8. According to the desk ladies, some ghost with heavy footfalls is inhabiting either my room or the one next to it… never can be sure. Not that it matters – I don’t think I could even find a ghost under the massive piles of crap that migrate from my car to the motel room each session. My laundry sits on the floor in assorted boxes: a Ravenwood Wine box for the clothes fresh from the laundromat, a Sam Adams 12-pack case for the grimy clothes fresh from the field. Contract archaeology is somewhat of a homeless, haphazard lifestyle. This haunted Super 8 is my fourth hotel for the summer. There’ve also been floors, couches, my tent and so on. The thought of traveling all the time sounded romantic at first, but trust me: there’s nothing romantic about not getting to see your girlfriend more than a handful of times in three months. That part of the job sucks hard.
We get $31 a day in addition to our pay and motel room, and you can tell how long someone’s been in the business by how the spend it. The older members of the team buy high-quality food and beer, using their portable grillers, rice cookers, steamers and toaster ovens to prepare gourmet field cuisine. The other 22-year-old and I pocket our cash and live on canned soup, peanut butter and PBR. The other guy blew his saved per diem on a girl who came to visit him last weekend ($1,000 in two days… and on a married woman who broke up with him, no less). I save mine for my time back in Kansas, to cover any future Paige Worthy-related expenses that should arise.
The best part of working in the field is the freedom. Well, that and being surrounded by people who are interested in – and often more knowledgeable about – the same things I’m interested in. My days of wearing suits and ties and being polite at work and sitting behind a desk all day are done for the foreseeable future. If I ever actually “make it” in archaeology and get that PhD and teach classes, then I probably won’t get to spend as much time in my dusty bluejeans and safari hat. But for now I’m in the clear on that front.
Anyways, I spose this has gone on for long enough. There are about a million things I haven’t mentioned, but I have my doubts that I’ve retained any readership this far and my mind is wandering. I hope everyone’s doing great – it sounds like everyone is – and I hope that my frivolous use of m-dashes has pissed at least one copy editor off. Later.
-Bob
For anyone who has no clue what contract archaeology is – I didn’t until last year – it’s the kind of archaeological field work that the government hires people (through consulting firms) to do when they need to do construction in an area and don’t want to rip through a piece of history. It involves a lot of survey and shovel testing, but not a lot of excavation. Also, it involves being hired for one job at a time, and constantly searching for work. This is my second contract job for the summer, and at the moment I’m staying in Branson, Mo., while my eight-person crew surveys a portion of Mark Twain National Forest.
Every day I go out into the forest with three liters of water on my back and walk roughly 18 miles looking and shovel testing for potential archaeological sites. I cover myself in sunscreen and 100-percent Deet, and when I get home I shower with Tecnu and drink beer with the rest of the crew. There are probably enough toxins in my system right now to qualify me for rehab somewhere. On a good day, it’s getting paid to hike around with your friends and look for history eroding out of a hillside. On a bad day, it’s a sucktabulous death march in 106 degree heat through a poison ivy-, tick-, spider- and bramble-choked hellhole with no breeze.
Right now I’m staying in a haunted Super 8. According to the desk ladies, some ghost with heavy footfalls is inhabiting either my room or the one next to it… never can be sure. Not that it matters – I don’t think I could even find a ghost under the massive piles of crap that migrate from my car to the motel room each session. My laundry sits on the floor in assorted boxes: a Ravenwood Wine box for the clothes fresh from the laundromat, a Sam Adams 12-pack case for the grimy clothes fresh from the field. Contract archaeology is somewhat of a homeless, haphazard lifestyle. This haunted Super 8 is my fourth hotel for the summer. There’ve also been floors, couches, my tent and so on. The thought of traveling all the time sounded romantic at first, but trust me: there’s nothing romantic about not getting to see your girlfriend more than a handful of times in three months. That part of the job sucks hard.
We get $31 a day in addition to our pay and motel room, and you can tell how long someone’s been in the business by how the spend it. The older members of the team buy high-quality food and beer, using their portable grillers, rice cookers, steamers and toaster ovens to prepare gourmet field cuisine. The other 22-year-old and I pocket our cash and live on canned soup, peanut butter and PBR. The other guy blew his saved per diem on a girl who came to visit him last weekend ($1,000 in two days… and on a married woman who broke up with him, no less). I save mine for my time back in Kansas, to cover any future Paige Worthy-related expenses that should arise.
The best part of working in the field is the freedom. Well, that and being surrounded by people who are interested in – and often more knowledgeable about – the same things I’m interested in. My days of wearing suits and ties and being polite at work and sitting behind a desk all day are done for the foreseeable future. If I ever actually “make it” in archaeology and get that PhD and teach classes, then I probably won’t get to spend as much time in my dusty bluejeans and safari hat. But for now I’m in the clear on that front.
Anyways, I spose this has gone on for long enough. There are about a million things I haven’t mentioned, but I have my doubts that I’ve retained any readership this far and my mind is wandering. I hope everyone’s doing great – it sounds like everyone is – and I hope that my frivolous use of m-dashes has pissed at least one copy editor off. Later.
-Bob
posted by The University Daily Kansan at 7:31 PM
9 Comments:
Hey Bob, don't doubt your readership. I made it all the way through. Very easy read.. and interesting, too! You should keep a journal (or just scrap together your posts) and sell it as a book. That should give you money for both gourmet meals and married whores! Just kidding, Paige :P I'm sure everything will work out for y'all!
-Nate
Oh, Nate. So young, so funny, so about to get slapped.
Hello boyfriend, let me first point out your subject-line split infinitive and the fact that you weren't actually using em dashes anywhere in your post. The hyphens-not-em-dashes situation probably annoyed me more than the fact that there were a lot of them.
Write more. Keep a blog of your own. You're interesting. And keep saving. Melting Pot is only months away and we'll be drinking wine, wine, lots of wine. Kidding, kind of. But I'm rich now too! I have a paying journalism job! ...Oh wait.
Oh Bob. Remember that time you puked in my friends' front yard? Yeah, that was awesome ... and all thanks to journalism. Miss ya — AKS
paige-
dear, i realize that i split my infinitive in the title. but, if you look closely, the split infinitive was done to infer specific meaning. "how not to get a job in journalism" would infer that i HAD gotten a job in journalism, but that i had done so in a way that was less than ideal. "how to not get a job in journalism" implies that i failed to do so. splitting hairs, i know. but my mistake was intentional.
and hells yeah, melting pot is merely weeks away. can't wait, my love.
-bob
ps- thanks to all for the encouragement, guys.
Um, yeah guys ... get a room. — AKS
WE'RE GOING TO MAKE OUT RIGHT HERE, AMANDA KIM STAIRRETT.
You'd do it, too, if only your boyfriend knew how to use the Internet. Or read.
And, ouch. I got put in my place on that split infinitive thing, but I maintain that you're full of shit, Bob. I'm always right.
So, Bobby, it sounds like you got a journalism degree to do menial labor. Your parents must be so proud. Try working at a bank for years. Sure you might try to make it sound cool, but when you're in your 30s, have no girlfriend and talk to your cat every night, life ain't so sweet.
What's with all the long posts from you asses anyway? Didn't anybody teach you "journalists" to omit needless words. I guess that might mean omitting your blog altogether.
Well, Christmas, I'm making more in archaeology than I could have at an entry-level journalism job, if everything goes according to plan I'll be working towards my PhD in a year and - most importantly - I'm on a career track that actually makes me happy. So yes, my parents are proud, you elitist asshole. I also sign my real name to everything I write. Go to hell and quit cluttering up the blog with your bullshit.
-Bob
Bob, I enjoyed reading your post, but you might need to refresh your memory on the difference between "imply" and "infer."
As for Lloyd, I'm sure he's doing more than just talking to that cat.
The Copy Desk
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