I had no words to describe my self: Job scarcity and identity in the dying university
Jessie Seymour Check email again. Not expecting anything, but not quite able to stop myself. There’s a new message. It’s a rejection. Automated and impersonal. Doesn’t even have my name at the top. Relief. At least it’s an answer. This wasn’t even an academic job. I already applied to those – lectureships, short-term contracts, anything remotely within the field I trained for. No, this was a Casual Janitorial Staff role. They don’t even want me cleaning on campus. I close the inbox. * I’m trying to decide how I feel about being an academic. Or if I’m even allowed to…