During the next few weeks, someone will ask you the question.

They might catch you during dinner; they might unexpectedly appear in your dorm room/apartment/ house/trailer off Route 32; they might jump from behind a bush wearing a Wolfman mask while you’re walking to class; they might call you again and again and again in the middle of the night. But it will happen.

And the question: “So what now?”

It can take different forms. For seniors, it’s the, “Where are you working?” or, “What are you going to do with that diploma?” For the rest of you, it’s something along the lines of, “How are you going to keep busy?” or the more passive-aggressive, “You don’t plan on just lying around all summer, do you?”

Unfortunately for most of us about to graduate, the answer involves mentioning “part-time” or “interviews” or “connections” or “prospects” or — to scare the parents — the “Peace Corps.”

But that’s not what they want to hear. Parents, aunts, uncles, friends — they require three key pieces of information: a company name, a location and a salary. Actual job descriptions and titles are optional, as well as any statements pertaining to happiness, contentment or fulfillment of aspirations.

It can get dicey. Imagine a family event after June 14: You try to wade past the squeak toys for the dogs, avoid the questionably paint-stained toddlers and smile at the incomprehensible seniors to reach for the snack table.

Suddenly, you spill a glass of your aunt’s “juice” and everyone turns their attention to the recent graduate.

Here’s my advice: Make something up. Tell your friends and family a plan so strange as to forbid any future questioning.

Like this.

“Well, now that you’ve graduated, how are you going to put that diploma to use?” a stray uncle might ask after lecturing you on “plastics.”

“I’m going to spread the gay agenda,” I say. He takes his arm off my shoulder and backs away quietly.

Or: “I’m joining the Peace Corps to teach children in Africa to read — the book about the gay agenda.” He begins to nod with understanding before he gives me the stink eye and then drives away.

Or even better: “I plan to infiltrate a fundamentalist Mormon sect to write a case study about their ways.” He seems hesitant, but congratulates me anyway.

“Oh,” I add, “And their gay agenda.”

Trust me. That guy might not call for years.

— Justin Thompson is a senior journalism major. Send him an e-mail at jt315004@ohiou.edu.