Degree, Debt, Disillusionment.

James tightened the green apron around his waist, as if it were a noose with corporate branding. The espresso machine hissed behind him, steaming like a dragon with asthma.

Outside, the morning rush had just begun. Commuters in Patagonia vests and Teslas, all of them pretending their daily $8 coffee was a personality trait.

He called out the next drink, “Quad shot, half-caf, extra hot oat milk latte for… Sarah?” and handed it over with a smile that had begun to calcify from overuse.

James had graduated magna cum laude just nine months ago. Double major: Political Science and Economics. A capstone project on labor markets that his professors said was “publishable.” Honors cords. Departmental awards. His mom cried when he walked across that stage. His dad shook his hand like they’d just closed on a house.

Now he made foam art for tech bros who treated baristas like vending machines with a pulse.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. This was supposed to be temporary. Transitional. A blip on the way to something bigger.

But “bigger” never called back. Not after the hundredth application. Not after the unpaid internships. Not after the networking events where everyone had perfect teeth and business cards made of grief.

He had done everything they told him to do. High GPA? Check. Leadership? President of the Debate Club. Internships? Three. Letters of recommendation from tenured professors who called him “exceptional.” He even wrote a thank-you note for every interview. Handwritten. On actual stationery.

Now he was twenty-four, living in his childhood bedroom again, reheating leftovers in his parents’ microwave, and brewing lattes for people who probably thought Kant was a new flavor of protein powder.

And here’s the kicker: he still felt lucky to have the job.

Every morning he stood behind that counter and thought, Maybe I’m the one who got it wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as sharp as they said. Maybe he was a knockoff—shiny résumé, no substance. Maybe the system didn’t fail him. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough.

But then he remembered: this wasn’t just his story. It was everyone’s story.

They were all sold the same shiny lie.

He looked out at the line of customers and realized half of them probably had degrees too. Probably had dreams too. Probably drank this coffee to survive a job they secretly hated.

A Gospel of Good Grades and Bad Math

We grow up reciting a secular gospel with the same conviction some people reserve for scripture. School is salvation. Education is the escalator to a better life.

You go to class, do your homework, ace your tests. Then college. Then job. Then a tasteful IKEA living room with a framed diploma and a coffee table covered in success.

But what if the escalator is broken?

What if it never worked at all?

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: America has sold its young a well-packaged dream with a suspiciously high return policy.

The Numbers Don’t Lie—But They Do Deceive

Let’s do the math. Americans owe over $1.7 trillion in student loan debt. That’s trillion with a T. That’s more than credit card debt. More than car loans. More than common sense should allow.

And yet we’re told this is the price of admission. The cost of entry to the good life. College is pitched as a smart investment. But if it’s so smart, why are millions of grads drowning?

Nearly half of recent college graduates are underemployed—working jobs that don’t require a degree. Imagine buying a Ferrari and using it to deliver DoorDash. That’s where we are.

They tell you, “College grads earn a million more over their lifetimes.” But that’s an average. And averages lie. Averages are the horoscopes of data: technically true, practically useless. They blend hedge fund managers with baristas and call it math.

What that “million dollar advantage” hides is this: some grads get the pot of gold. Others get the leprechaun flipping them off.

The Real Scam: A Rigged Casino in a Cap and Gown

Here’s how the grift works:

• Step 1: Convince 18-year-olds that college is a mandatory requirement.

• Step 2: Offer them loans with more interest than a Netflix true crime documentary.

• Step 3: Funnel money to banks, who win either way.

The result? The average borrower walks out with $37,000 in debt. That’s a house down payment. Except there’s no house—just anxiety, garnished wages, and a monthly bill that never goes away.

And who profits? Banks. Institutions. Bureaucrats. The machine.

It’s not education. It’s debt farming.

A System That Punishes the Poor for Being Poor

The cruelest part? The very students who need education the most—low-income, first-gen kids—are the ones crushed hardest by the system. Wealthy students graduate debt-free. Everyone else graduates with shackles.

And even when they play by the rules, they lose.

Low-income borrowers often owe more than they borrowed years after graduating. That’s not just unfair—it’s a rigged game pretending to be a noble cause.

The system promises equality and delivers hierarchy.

The Mental Toll Not Enough People Talk About

This isn’t just an economic crisis. It’s existential.

In 2021, 42% of high school students reported persistent sadness or hopelessness. Among college grads buried in debt, that sadness turns into depression, anxiety, and—let’s not sugarcoat it—despair.

One in fourteen borrowers has seriously considered suicide due to their debt (Debt Collective).

These aren’t statistics. These are people. These are Mayas. Bright kids who did everything right and now feel like they failed a game they never had a fair shot at.

The Education System Is Not Broken—It’s Functioning As Designed

People say the system is broken. It’s not. It’s doing exactly what it was built to do.

It doesn’t exist to empower you. It exists to sort you, to funnel you, to brand you. It’s a credential mill masquerading as a meritocracy. And once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

But that’s also where hope lives.

Because the minute you realize the rules are arbitrary, you can stop playing their game. You can learn to bend the rules. Or write new ones. Or walk away entirely.

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