will write for food

The word rolls less lovingly off the lips today. Internship. If you were born after 1985 and pursued any sort of post-secondary trade degree, odds are you've done one. You've likely made coffee, and licked envelopes until your tongue turned white and raw. Or, if you're one of the lucky ones, or unlucky ones maybe, you've actually gotten your feet wet, for some soaked, and have done it all for the recompense of a reference. Experience builds character. Experience builds resumes. But it doesn’t buy dinner, or pay rent, or erase student loans. Graduates of this year, and already a few years past, have had the misfortune of throwing their four-cornered caps into oblivion, shouting "we did it!" only to later ask, "what did we do?" That dreaded ten-letter "R" word hangs above our heads where our roofs should be, but for most of us, it's where our parent's roofs are. Unable to find work, and sick of working for free, a generation of qualified 20-somethings loose entry level positions to disgruntled 40-somethings who were previously replaced by other 20-somethings that were willing to work for less… two years ago. So we accept another internship, add another bullet to our resumes, and continue to wonder what the hell happened to the Simcoe Act.