I'll soon be a college graduate entering a world filled with hundreds of thousands of other college graduates looking for the perfect job in that field in which they've worked so hard to earn their degrees.
And hopefully, I'll soon find myself looking across some oversized, overpolished desk into the eyes of some oversized, overpolished executive and the conversation will go something like this: "Well, everything looks good here. I see you attended college on a full merit scholarship for outstanding community service and academic achievement, graduated in the top of your class at the university, won several awards for excellence in your field of study and went on to graduate as valedictorian, impressive -- just one last thing," he smiles, "I'm sure you won't mind urinating into a Dixie Cup in a bathroom with paper thin walls where an edgy, armed security guard will hover nearby listening, to ensure that a steady stream of fluid escapes your bladder."
He pauses, "So that we might verify that you have what we want in an employee. No objections?"
And I'm sure I will swallow the pride I've spent the last four years bolstering, check my civil rights at the stall door, steady my aim and prove myself a worthy employee. How proud I'll feel. I know, I've done this before.
On my first experience with employment drug testing, the request startled me. I asked the interviewer if any past applicants ever had a problem with the requirement. She replied that some had refused to take the test, but she was sure that that was proof positive that they were on drugs -- it was an easy way to eliminate those people. Not wanting to make waves, I didn't dare ask her if she had considered the possibility that those abstainers weren't on drugs but were instead too astute and intuitive to become employed by a company that had such little regard for its employees civil rights, privacy and dignity. I suppose I could have probed her further as to whether she thought her company might be suffering at the loss of eminently qualified, intelligent and creative, independent-thinking employees who happen to be doing something in the privacy of their own homes that affects their work so little it requires scrutinization of their bodily fluids to detect.
But, I didn't. Instead, I did the deed and went home and waited to find out if I had the right stuff, or actually, didn't have the wrong stuff in my urine.
I didn't. I got the job. They treated me like dirt. But I had no right to complain. I had made it clear from the beginning by taking their test that I was willing to be walked on. I had basically told them at the start when I peed in that waxy, pink-flowered cup, not to mention all over my fingers, that I had no respect for myself and that they shouldn't either.
I dread the day I have to go through that again. Maybe I won't stand for it. Or should I say squat?