How not to get a job.

A recent study of GYPSY’s showed that the Gen Y Yuppies have expectations that aren’t commensurate with capability…and they really don’t like the Boomers they see as ancient artifacts of a prehistoric era. Now that we’re armed with that knowledge, those of us who are looking for work might want to take a new approach to our job applications.

Dear 30-Something HR Director,

You will not be reading this letter because you’ve delegated your resume reading to a software program. You’ve delegated your relationship management to Social Media, and everything else in your life to housekeepers, fast food restaurants and – most importantly – to Mommy and Daddy. As far as I can tell, you don’t do much of anything yourself. But you’re a very accomplished person, the best at whatever you do, and you deserve far much better than this…whatever “this” may be.

As your machine has no doubt surmised, I need a job. Your computer doesn’t know that I don’t particularly want one. But unlike most Americans I find myself in the tragic position of not receiving unemployment insurance, disability or welfare payments. I’m a tax-paying sucker who works hard to support those who either can’t or won’t find a job…and I’d like to remain one for as long as I must. And then I hope to die early…or sit in my wheelchair watching what happens to the world when your generation is supposed to take over…but can’t.

I was hoping for a job with intelligent, interesting humans and highly rewarding work. But I’m no fool. I know that today’s business world no longer offers opportunities for collaborative team players who want to contribute to the success of their organizations. What you’re seeking are your peers – other thirty-somethings just like yourself who know all the characters in Game of Thrones, but haven’t a clue what QE2 is. You want someone who lined up for the iPhone 5S (rather than show up at the office), and who really, truly cares about Lady Gaga’s “message.”

You don’t want anyone like me because I’ll tell you things you don’t want to hear —  like that Lady Gaga is just a trashy re-hash of Grace Slick, Bette Midler, Madonna, and David Bowie. You don’t want me because I’ll look at you askance when you say things like, “I’m the only one here who really gets it“ and, “If they want me to work harder, they need to pay me more.”

Most of all, you don’t want me because I remind you of your mother (OMG!) or your grandmother (WTF?!) and I won’t give you the proper reverence you think you deserve for showing up at the office two or three days a week (STFU!).  And you’re afraid that menopause is contagious.

So let’s both of us be honest: you want someone like yourself who believes that she should be paid to sit at home, Skyping and Tweeting with friends, going for a pedicure and a Brazilian in the middle of the afternoon, and whining all the time about how hard she works and how everyone else is stupid.

I want to work for someone who isn’t younger than most of my socks, doesn’t think she knows everything, and isn’t an immature, self-centered pop culture whore who yaps endlessly but says nothing of any value.

So I know you’re not going to hire me even though I’m fully qualified for the position, can do the job in about one fifth the time it takes a younger person, and who can bring knowledge about business that you might not have for another 20 years.

But I figured I’d send you my resume anyway, just to give you a statistic to report when they ask how well your new resume-reading software is working. You can tell them that you received 127 resumes, 3 of them from qualified people, 2 of them with 10+ years of experience, and 1 who did the Social Media for Game of Thrones. (Yeah, sometimes the words pop up, but the real message is lost.)

And you won’t mention that you didn’t interview any of those people because you hired your girlfriend’s brother.

Here it is, anyway. As usual, I tailored my resume to the job I’m applying for. It’s a shame you’ll never see it.

Sincerely,

Ancient, Horrific Boomer Person

Senior Person at Failing Company

2001-2013

Listened to a lot of BS about how there’s a “new economy” and “new methodologies.” Worked my ass off while the CEO earned 14,000 times the average worker and effed off to his home in Bermuda for four days every week.  Laid off when the SEC investigated after a sketchy IPO and the company was shut down. Lost my life savings in the IPO.

Senior Person at Pretty Good Company

1990-2001

Sat in a lot of meetings and learned that you can espouse the most preposterous BS and be believed…if you say it with enough authority. Watched incompetent people kiss ass and rise to the top, only to destroy their departments because they didn’t have a clue. Worked tirelessly to clean up messes made by others. Left company when it was acquired, and subsequently shut down, by its largest competitor.

Mid-Manager at Good Company

1980-1990

Worked my ass off to learn everything I could and juggle BS flowing from the top down and from the bottom up. Tried to teach my staff a thing or two and keep them productive and happy. Laid off when the company merged with its competitor.

Junior Person

1975-1980

Treated like shit while other people stole my ideas and forced me to do their work. Swallowed my pride and showed up every day – even when I was sick – because I was so afraid of losing the crappy job that eventually might lead me to something better. Left when the first opportunity to bail came along.

About Deborah Knight

Experienced, professional brand specialist, marketing communications consultant and writer.
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One Response to How not to get a job.

  1. Alfred says:

    In spite of the chaos and the crumbling of our civilization, you continue to fight. Which is one more reason, I believe, that battalions of others who have worked with you or for you love you. You are the “exceptional” American (Canadian, perfect blend) that both Zero and Putin scoff at. Your life proves them wrong. They are evil, same mold. Anyone who knows you sees gold, pure gold. Brilliant. Creative. Determined to do whatever it takes to make the mission – and your people – succeed. Said it before, will say it again: You, Deb, would have made an extraordinary Marine. Semper Fi.

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