I call it the “labour trough”: Me, approaching 33, and about a dozen university first-years crowd long tables in the fluorescent-lit offices. They ask me if I’m also a student and I try not to laugh. To be fair, this is a decision I’ve made peace with – me, giving my labour away for free when I should be saving for a down payment on a house – but the day-to-day reality of toughing it out at the bottom of the career ladder at my age is not as sunny as my inner life coach would like to believe.