Cover letter for your ridiculous job posting

Dear Resume Black Hole,

I saw your opening for an administrative assistant and am officially giving you notice that I am the person you are looking for. First, let’s get a few things out of the way first concerning the experience requirements. You want a business or related associate degree or equivalent experience – I triple-majored in undergraduate school, have two master’s degrees, and more than 50 further credit hours toward a doctorate. On top of that, I managed a used bookstore in the absence of the owner for several years. So it’s also safe to say that I have equivalent experience and knowledge of financial processes. I have worked in and attended universities for the past 13 years, so I think that should cover your requirement of experience in a university. I have also worked with web development, Microsoft Publisher, and People Soft in my various positions – although such programs are pretty basic and easy to learn, so I question your unwillingness to spend 30 minutes with someone to run them through some software that you will likely change by next year anyway for newer versions or better systems.

With that out of the way, I’d like to spend the rest of this letter outlining the other skills and experience you require for this position.

1.     Office experience including detailed tasks and use of judgment in performing those tasks


I feel you need to take a breath here. Look closely at this requirement. It’s a juxtaposition of vagueness that hopes to be specific. I would like to ask you what sort of ass-birthed mouth breather came up with this one. Is there an office, anywhere, where this isn’t a part of the daily norm? Can you name any job that doesn’t include some detailed tasks and use of judgment? While you are in the business of writing obvious requirements, I feel you should also write the need for applicants that wear clothing, breathe, and who understand how to work a light switch.

2.     Experience using Microsoft Office, including strong Excel and PowerPoint skills.

Once again, I think you are simplifying too much here. Experience with Microsoft Office is a given when you have already asked for someone with an associate’s degree. Seriously, are you getting people who haven’t touched a computer applying for these positions? Given the prevalence of computers in daily life over the past 20 years, you would be hard pressed to find someone that can’t figure this shit out, yet job requirements still insist on putting this bon mot in the mix. In fact, it would be hard to find a 6 year-old kid in this country without experience using Microsoft Office, which has permeated the culture so much it’s like asking for strong skills in using a chair.

3.     Demonstrated ability to organize tasks and set priorities.

This is the most aggravating of your requirements and makes me want to hand deliver this cover letter so I can personally slap you across the face. You want me to prove an ability to organize tasks and set priorities. Should I take a picture of my calendar schedule, my list of shit to do today with stars by the stuff that needs to get done by 3? Does this numbered list of a cover letter count as demonstrating my ability to organize your idiotic job requirements? My first priority upon starting at your office would be to put a jar on my desk with the label “human stupidity tax” and fill it with shorn locks of your hair whenever you let such stupidity escape your undeveloped think bone through your overused pie hole.

4.     Excellent written and oral communication skills.

OK. You are being a bit vague again here. Excellent, as in the ability to speak or write clearly and directly so others can understand where you are coming from? I can see that your office clearly needs such a person. I will also throw in the bonus of hiring someone who has presented at several national professional conventions and published several articles on literature in peer-reviewed journals.

5.     Evidence of sensitivity to and acceptance of people from diverse cultures.

Again with the evidence! Please find enclosed several pictures of me with people of other races. While some of them look like I took them while seated at another table in a restaurant, I think they clearly demonstrate that I am totally cool with being in the same room as someone from another race or culture. I can also provide receipts of donations to United Way, which supports organizations that help build diversity. Beyond that, I hope you’ll accept my extensive studies and publications in African American and Native American literature, my history teaching with Upward Bound, and that I voted for Obama as evidence. I also appreciate hip hop music, scandinavian folk music, Beyonce Knowles, Dominican baseball players and Klesmer bands. I hope to move to Minnesota, and look forward to voting against the stupid constitutional amendment to deny ordinary rights to people because of their sexual preference – and I hope I put that down in a sensitive manner, you ridiculous, silly person from the 1970s. Let me put this one forth – I also listen to NPR, read National Geographic, and have worked with people from other races and sexualities, but we didn’t ever really talk about it in that aggravating “he’s my gay friend” liberal way you appear to be shooting for here, because as someone born in the last 3 decades, it isn’t something we even think about much.

Anyway, I hope this cover letter is written excellently enough to demonstrate my experience and abilities. I am also able to lift 20-40 pounds from time to time. I look forward to your response that there are more qualified and/or experienced people that more closely matched the position – I know how hard it is to find someone who can answer phones, type shit, use the alphabet to file things, and write stuff on a calendar. It’s a tough gig, and you need the right person for the job. I understand. 

Sincerely,

Able and willing to do this rather simple job but not “experienced” enough for you

My racist, sadistic neighbor

For the past few weeks, my sadistic neighbor has been taping sheets of newspaper to her front window. I imagine the intent is to help the neighborhood birds build nests.

Instead, I’ve been listening to a robin try to fly through the non-papered part of her window for days. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Bird poo now stains her front porch. I think the bird must have brain damage by now.

I say sadistic, and should probably elaborate. My neighbor is the personification of the Hallmark Shoebox lady, complete with cataract glasses and froofy dog. I had a feeling she would be interesting when my first conversation with her involved her telling me about the occasional black people that come through the neighborhood and how she called the police.

Racist elderly people. There’s not much that you can do but plaster on a fake smile and look for the nearest exit.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

This neighbor accused me of trying to kill her dog one winter. I had salted my icy sidewalks (mostly for fear of her falling and getting hurt). She said if I used salt again, she would call the police.

This neighbor said the trees in my yard were blocking the sun from her tree. When the time of year allowed for it, I had the tree trimmed by a guy who shimmies up trees with just some climbing equipment. She spent the afternoon yelling at the guy while he was dangling 30-40 feet from the ground with a chainsaw.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

When this woman speaks to you and she’s angry, she starts at 10, no build up. You open the door (the first mistake) and find her already mid-sentence yelling. Your day is ruined thereafter. You can't shake the conversation. It's like a verbal concussion - you are disoriented and confused. When she did it to Fiancé, I wrote the neighbor a letter letting her know that if she had any further concerns, to put it in writing and to deal with me and that I no longer wished to speak to her.

She said the letter gave her a good laugh.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

In the tree out front, there are four baby squirrels learning how to climb and jump. A rabbit has taken up residence in our front yard. Our yard is a sanctuary. Her yard is a study in inducing brain-injured birds.

Fiancé and I are trying to find the open window to a new life since none of the doors seem to be opening. We keep banging our heads against the window. Over and over again. Hoping for this next job to call, for the next application to be the last one needed. Every day we feel a bit stupider for believing things could maybe work out. That she could find a position that covers healthcare. That we could escape Fargo.

Fiancé nailed an interview with a non-profit company. Absolutely perfect for the job. She even sent a hand-written thank you note. She was passed over and given no reason for it.

I tried calling for some counseling to help navigate the stress of a wedding, unemployment, finances, unsupportive parents (Fiancé’s mother was thrilled she didn’t get the job) and trying to move. They scheduled me for six weeks from now. Six weeks.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

But then you wonder what might be beyond the window. If we did get through, things might be just as miserable.

The bird needs to figure out that what he needs is right there, that the newspaper will work wonders in building a nest if only he would grab it and go. Forget about what is beyond the window.

I don’t know what that means for us, what we are missing in our quest for a better life. Often these things are only known in hindsight. For instance, my brother-in-law lost his job after 7 loyal and wonderful years with the company. He searched for six months to find a position somewhere. Because of that, he was able to be home to support their newborn baby that had a lot of birth complications. He got hired soon after at a place just across the street from their home. The universe knew he needed to be home for the baby until it was better. But it sucked horribly for him for the months trying to find work while the due date loomed.

I hope we figure it out soon. My head is getting very sore.

The Sunmart Incident

It all happened in the Sunmart parking lot on a hot day in early August. I needed cash and they had an ATM.

I parked next to a small white pickup. The driver’s side window was down and there he was – late 50s, white hair, nicely trimmed beard, t-shirt and baseball cap – slumped over to the right catching some sleep, probably waiting for his wife to come back with the groceries. I locked the car with my key fob, but the toot of the horn didn’t wake him.

He was out.

Cold.

Inside, I kept an eye on the truck through the large windows, between the posters advertising the day’s sales, while walking to the ATM. For some reason, My PIN number wouldn’t come to mind. I left, cashless, angry that I would have to now run to the bank and change my PIN.

The man had not moved. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. He was parking in the opposite direction, so my car door was next to his. I cautiously knocked on his door.

“Sir, you OK?”

He made two short, jerking motions, seizure-like. Like a dog dreaming of rabbits. He grunted.

I leaned closer, for some reason an image of a knife flashing at my jugular crossed my mind, as if he was feigning sleep until some poor passerby got close enough to fall into his trap. I have this same thought every time the UPS guy comes to the door.

But I leaned, and saw perched in front of him against the steering wheel and automatic gear shift a yellow legal notebook and a magazine open to a female model. I followed his arm down with my gaze, and saw his right hand resting between his legs.

“Dude has no pants!” I thought. “No pants. As in pantless.”

No bits and pieces were hanging out, but still, not something you want to come across. Ever. This event is on no one’s bucket list. If George Carlin had appeared in front of me in a time traveling phone booth, I don't know if I would have been surprised. My instant reaction to pants-less McGee was to pull back against my car. Did I really see that? Should I make sure? Hell to the no.

I poured myself into my car, carefully. At this point, I did not want him to wake and see me. He would know. He would find that knife and come for me.

I re-parked at the far end of the lot, briefly considered pulling an Oedipus Rex on my eyeballs. I could still see the white pickup to my left. A phone booth to my right. Was this an emergency? I didn’t know, so I searched for the police number. They put me through to dispatch.

“I’d like to request a welfare check,” I said.

I waited for the police. Meanwhile a large van pulled up and five people got out. The driver also noticed the man. She kept hitting the lock on her key fob as if trying to wake him in the passive, polite Midwestern way. It didn't work.

Ten minutes later, a cop showed up and asked me where to find the vehicle. I told him and wandered off to my car. Another cop car pulled in. I heard the first going through the spiel "Sir, are you OK?" I got in my car and tried to drive off. That’s when the reporter part of me turned the wheel to find another parking spot. I waited, only able to see the policeman’s head over the roofs of cars.

An ambulance pulled up and left without him.

The mind boggles. What could have possessed this man, who wouldn’t earn a second glance upon seeing him in a mall or at a golf course on a normal day. What could have led him to this particular store, this particular spot, this state of dress?

Option 1. His wife of 25 years, a mid-level manager at an insurance agency, told him “I don’t love you anymore.” Their children were grown and out of the house. The last few years of the marriage were sketchy, sure, but not as bad as that. Surely not to the point she would find comfort in one of her co-workers. The last year comes back in a rush, the late nights, the sudden need to join a bridge club that met weekly. Oh God. The next day, after a night on the couch, he picks up a RedBook on the way out of the house, a notebook to plan the divorce. He drives for several hours, not sure where he could go, he gets hungry. Pulls over. Before he can get out of the pickup, before he even knows it, the magazine is in his hands.

Option 2. That morning, he lost his son. SUV and bike. No hope. Should he eat something? He pulls over. His stomach is a pit, filled with the thoughts of a wasted life. Nothing left. He downs all the pills the doctor prescribed. The magazine offers little relief.

Option 3. Or it was just me in 20 years.

In any case, I couldn’t wait anymore. I didn’t want to know. The human part of me outweighed the reporter. And I left. 

My Dinner with Gourmet: Part Three

Part One Here

Part Two Here

Welcome to Part Three!

The table has been set and the house cleaned. I’ve got recorders hidden underneath the dining room table and high atop the kitchen cabinet. In North Dakota, it’s legal to tape a conversation as long as one of the parties, including the one recording, knows that it is being recorded. The more you know. Shooting star.

Fiancé and I are watching Fringe as we wait for Simplicity Gourmet to arrive.

Nervous.

Wondering if Fiancé will be able to resist.

Fiancé says she’s scared. We agree that I’ll do most of the talking, which is nullified almost from the moment Simplicity Gourmet arrives (from here on, he’ll be SG).

The doorbell rings. SG enters. The best way to describe him is to compare him to a cartoon children’s minister. He’s in his 40s, about 5’ 6” and has light, thinning hair up top. He has spectacles, a stout build, and a round head with a goatee. He’s carrying a hard suitcase and shakes my hand and introduces himself with a boisterous, “Welcome to the party! Ha ha! How you guys doing?”

His manner is enthusiastic without being annoyingly so, and feminine enough to be non-threatening, which is why I can’t get the idea out of my head that he was a youth pastor in a former life. If he’d had a cross in the suitcase, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

He asks us how much we know about what he’s doing – the free vacation, the menu, the coupon for wedding invitations. He compliments us on our memory of what we had been told. He asks which of us is the cook (me).

“Did they tell you I was going to show you some cool cookware?” he asks.

“No, they did not mention that,” Fiancé responds. It’s not a lie, but our research had made us very aware of the reason for this visit.

As he sets up, he asks about our wedding day, where we grew up, how long we’ve been together. As if reading my priestly thoughts, he quotes The Princess Bride: “Twoo Wuv! This is what bwings us togetha…” We discuss a mutual admiration for Wallace Shawn, although we could not recall his name.

He starts his pitch.

“So here is the skinny on the cookware you guys. It gives me a chance to showcase what we call waterless greaseless cookware. Have you guys ever heard of it? What it is, is we teach people to cook foods a little faster and a heck of a lot healthier. So it’s heart smart. It retains vitamins and minerals. I’m gonna fry chicken and potatoes together but I’m not going to use any butter or fats or greases to cook them in so it’s more heart smart. I’m going to do three vegetables all in one pan. I’m going to use a tablespoon of water to cook them in so it’s going to retain all the vities (re: vitamins) and minerals and what have ya. I’m also going to make you a peach cobbler in a small skillet on top of the flame.  You can actually bake desserts on top with the cookware instead of in the oven. It’s kind of cool to bake things on top of the burner instead of in the oven. The cookware we do have is an investment, it’s not cheap cookware, it’s meant to last forever, it’s healthy, it comes with a spectacular warrantees, warrantees you can use forever, it’s waranteed for your lifetimes and then when you pass away you can will your cookware one generation down and transfer the cookware for two people’s lifetimes (I swear he didn’t use periods, but commas during this part). It is an investment, OK? You guys like it, and you want to look at a brochure when I’m done feeding you, feel free. If you don’t want to look at a brochure, that’s cool, that’s completely cool, too. One thing I do tell folks before I get started is at the end it’s truly never a question whether people can afford it, it’s a question of if they like it. We have a budget plan, so we can fit this into anybody’s particular budget. If you guys see yourself going out to a restaurant once a month and dropping 40-50 bucks. If you can give that up one time a month, you can afford to have this stuff. I really believe it.”

SG is good. He has us sitting on chairs while he speaks, jumping from health to the food to warrantees and preparing us for any sticker shock that may come later. He moves to the free vacation, which is a 3 day 2 night stay at an all inclusive “escape” to Mexico, Dominican Republic or Costa Rica. The food, non-alcoholic beverages, and non-motorized activities are all included as well. Airfare would be up to us. He says the reason they figure they can do this is few people want to travel to the tropics for two nights and will extend their vacation for $100-125 a night per couple. He asks us if it would be cool to never have to buy cookware again. Fiancé says it hasn’t been that big a deal. I struggle to remember the last time we had to buy cookware. It was a wok we got as a Christmas gift. Before that, maybe 5 years. SG lightly praises the convenience of not having to shop for a $20 pan every couple years before moving on. I wonder who I know that may be buying such shoddy cookware so often.

Fiancé asks if he has been on the vacation. He hasn’t. Has anyone he knows? Yes. Do they enjoy it? Of course they do!

SG, not to be swayed, brings the conversation back to the food and shows us the special whistles in the lids of the pans that tell the cook when to close the valve and let the food start cooking on a low heat.

Fiancé asks where SG is from. A small town 2 hours away. He covers a big area, and is in Fargo for a couple days.

He brings it back to the food, asks us if we are vegetable fans. He uses a rather large gadget to chop up carrots. He asks what we do. We tell him Fiancé is unemployed. We teach when we can and when state budgets don’t screw us over. Fiancé is upbeat, tells him she’s looking for something a little more full time. He slides into talking about the one piece that some people start with, if anything, of their cookware, an electric skillet with a synthetic grease core that spreads the heat evenly from a simmer up to 400 degrees. You can do roasts, casseroles, even popcorn in this skillet. He drops in the chicken breasts.

SG: So when you do put stuff in here at first, it sticks. But the difference between this and something at the store is as it sears it will let loose from the bottom of the pan and flip right over.

Fiancé: So have you seen a lot of couples this week? Is this just what you do?

SG: This is what I do.

Fiancé: Wow. That’s kind of fun.

SG: This is it.

Me: You work at night all the time?

M: Pretty much, during the day people are at work and stuff. On Saturdays I’ll do daytime and lunches. Occasionally there are people who do swing shifts. You can make fresh hash browns for Sunday morning. Making fresh potato chips for you as well. So, you got your resume flying out there trying to find something?

Fiancé: Pretty much everywhere

SG: All over the place, huh? Positive thinking will get you a position. (it hasn’t)

Fiancé: That’s what I’m hoping.

SG: So when the spuds go in with the chicken, you’ll be eating 8 minutes after that.

The conversation continues this way, a little personal talk, but always going back to the food and the cookware. He segues into the construction – seven layers of metal in every piece: surgical grade stainless steel with nonporous, noncreative titanium, cast iron, three layers of aluminum, and another layer of the surgical grade stainless steel. That’s six layers if you are counting. Not sure where the other one went.

As he discusses the surgical grade steel with titanium, which is “a healthier metal,” he advises us to throw away any of our Teflon coated pans that are flaking or scratching, as Teflon is a carcinogen and will literally kill birds and small animals in or around the kitchen if you overheat the pans.

He moves into the warrantee, how we can will this cookware to our children, that they are the oldest manufacturer of cookware in the US that is still manufactured in the US today. The company started making cast iron skillets back in 1874, moved to stainless steel, then into waterless and greaseless cookware about 70 years ago.

This causes me to wonder why. Why, during the buildup to a war do you make cookware that requires a lot of metals? Why would they give a rat’s ass at the time if their food was made with less water or no grease? Did anyone care how much grease was in his food at that time? SG does not have answers to this. Fiancé gives me a look, because I love asking questions that no reasonable person should have the answer to unless they like to make up assumptions. It’s one of my many “quirks” she puts up with.

So now, in addition to our health, buying this cookware helps to put food on an American factory worker’s plate.

He’s good.

I like him.

Fiancé seems to like him as well.

SG starts talking about the history of the company again. They couldn’t compete with other cookware at Macy’s or Bloomingdales. No one was there to tell the customer why theirs was more expensive or about the superior advantages of their product, the longevity, the quality, the health. I imagine the years ahead with Fiancé, turning valves in lids, cooking lasagna in an electric skillet, getting healthier.

SG now begins to talk about the cost, starting at $200 a piece. The electric skillet is $595. We could invest $7,000 in their cookware sets, but nobody is doing that! No, that’s just a range. With a budget plan, they can start as low as $30 to $35 a month. That’s feasible. That’s reasonable. That’s the cost of eating out once a month.

You get what you pay for with this cookware. It saves time in the kitchen, saves money in your pocket, and will improve your health. How does it save you money, you ask? Well, firstly, you are going to be able to cook on a lower heat with these pans, so there’s the energy savings. You won’t have to replace your pans again, ever, for the low price of $30 a month. But hold on, you also save on groceries with this cookware! Did you know food shrinks when you cook it? Meat can shrink up to 30-35 percent, vegetables as much as 50 percent. So what you do, see, is figure that you’ll save about 20 percent on your grocery budget because you won’t have to buy as much food to make up for shrinkage. That’s enough savings to make up for what you will spend on this cookware, easy!

OK. I can tell you are interested, but we need to pause.

I need to tell you, reader, about the three evils of nutrition.

1.     The grease and fat in your cooking is killing you. It’s the leading cause of heart disease, the leading cause of death in the U.S. of A. Men and women alike. If you don’t eat healthy, you better make time to be sick.

2.     Heat. High heat specifically. Those vegetables you are cooking to eat aren’t doing shit for you. You might as well just throw them away for all the good they do. Once you hit 190 degrees, those vitamins and minerals are done for. There is no nutritionist on earth that would argue with this: Cooked vegetables are not good for you.

3.     Water. That’s right, water, the source and symbol of life on earth. Water is not good to cook foods. Let me submit as proof boiled carrots. All those vitamins and minerals are going down the sink with orange boiled carrot water. Then to eat them, you add butter, brown sugar. That’s not doing you any favors.

Heart disease is killing us as a country. Kids as young as 14 in New York are showing significant risk of heart disease. Listen, in this fast paced, cooking from a box society, it is time to take control! One way to do that is with the right tool. Something that eliminates the need for grease, heat, water, and oxygen (yes, that’s bad for you too). It may be an investment, but when you are 90, looking back on your life with this cookware, you are going to want to thank your young self for taking that leap, for biting that bullet.

It’s simple.

Every piece is like a mini-oven.

It retains 90 percent of the good stuff in your food.

You’ll also get cooking lessons.

DVDs with recipes.

Fiancé: That’s amazing!

We eat. The potatoes are good. The carrots, corn and broccoli, while cooked together, retain their separate flavors, vegetable flavors. The chicken breast is even edible.

SG: What did you guys like about the cookware with what you saw?

Fiancé: No splatter. What about you?

Me: I don’t know.

Fiancé: It was fast, and the food was good.

We continue to eat as SG cleans after himself in the kitchen and talk to us.

SG: Back in the day, people didn’t buy this because of no water or oil or the health benefits, people bought it because they knew they would have decent sized families and the gals wanted one set of kettles that they could use for the rest of their life. Here in the last 20-30 years, since health has become a big problem in this country, the greaseless and waterless side of things have really taken off. You couple that with the harmful effects of Teflon, people are starting to open their eyes. And you know what? Last and certainly not least, it’s nice to have nice things. For the sake of giving up one meal at a sit down joint a month, it’s very doable. I don’t know what your financial situation is. It’s none of my business, but $35 or whatever you can invest in a month and if you want this cookware, we can go over the brochure and look at some cool stuff. If not…

Fiancé: Well we’d like to look at the brochure for sure. We can’t make a commitment tonight because we’d have to look at finances and such. But it is something we are interested in.

SG: Let me ask you this, if this is something you would really want in your house, what would fit comfortable in a monthly budget for the two of you.

Me: Right now, with one of us unemployed…

Fiancé: Nothing. But we’re hoping that, much like my life, as things get better and I get employed, that we would be able to afford something like this.

SG doesn’t want to show us the brochures, or he would have to tell us about pricing, the free gifts and such, and if we aren’t ready to buy, he won’t be able to offer us the same benefits later. I don’t know why that is.

We talk about his kids, the new pool he had put in, mouth-burning foods, how far it is from Mankato to anywhere, the Air Force. He’s pleasant, but working to put away the cookware carefully, deliberately. He makes his way toward the door. I ask about the brochures again.

SG: If it’s something you can look at and afford, yeah I’ll show you one, but if you are not in a position to make that commitment, then don’t. I’m not here to pressure anybody into anything, never have, never will. I don’t want that person in my house or your house. So when you are ready, give me a jingle.

With that, he is gone. Off into the cold night. I almost want to go after him, not for the cookware, but something else. Hope. I need some hope in my life, and it feels like he hadn’t delivered, that he might have some in his vehicle, and that he is driving away with it.

I was impressed by the evening. He wasn’t as pushy as I feared. I felt drawn to buying, but didn’t. And when we said no, he took our answer graciously and moved on.

Fiancé and I do a post-mortem of the evening. We find out that I was more into it than she was. If we weren’t so hard up for a job, I might have even gone ahead with it. However, he lost her several times during the presentation:

1. “Don’t make me feel like I’m less of a human being because I don’t have a job and we decided not to make a commitment tonight. You keep your secret little brochure that I can’t look at, your secret incentives and your secret budget, and take it with you.”

2. The implication that water is a health threat.

3. The fact he hadn’t been on the vacation himself.

4. She didn’t know how this new cookware would work for all the recipes we’ve built up. How do you make Chinese food if you can’t use oil?

5. At one point, he said part of the problem was people cooking out of boxes. The first thing he did was open a box of cake mix to make cobbler (with a can of peach pie filling).

6. The cookware, with all its valves and whistles, was ultimately confusing.

Fiancé: “He was very nice. I liked him, but I also didn’t like him and I’ll tell you why. He didn’t care about the wedding stuff. You are in my house because of my wedding – talk to me about my wedding. Talk to me about Boston. Talk to me about stuff, real stuff, you know?” Hope. It goes a long way.

In the end, the guy came, tried to sell us the American Dream – to get married, have kids, cook at home with nice things, and eventually leave a legacy of cookware for our children. But that isn’t our dream. We passed. And as time passes, even 30 minutes later, I feel no regret.

“I don’t think this is the American Dream,” Fiancé says. “My American Dream is to love you.” 

Open letters to Human Resources people after rejections

Thank you for your letter.

I am interested in pursuing further positions at your organization. I would appreciate your help in determining how I can best fulfill the organization's needs. You wrote that you have other candidates for this position that "more closely fit the experience and skills requirements," yet I don't know how to fit this position any closer. It is 100 percent what I have been doing for many years. If there is a match that is greater than 100 percent, I would like to know, as I know many scientists and mathematicians that would love to write a paper about this previously unknown quantity.

If you have time, I would very much like to know how to best convey how my experience and skills can match more than 100 percent the job listing. Any help is appreciated. Thank you!

Cheers!


Letter 2
Dear person who interviewed me,

I appreciate the opportunity to come and interview at your office for the transcript coordinator position. As someone who has been to 4 universities as a student and worked at six universities in various office and faculty capacities over the past 13 years, I was rather confused by your message that you went with someone with more academic experience.

As you described the position, the transcript coordinator looks at transcripts from other colleges, makes a unappealable decision based on whatever mood she may happen to be in that day, and makes decisions on whether one computer science class is close enough to another in scope and quality despite having no expertise in that field. It sounds like a pretty great gig - ultimate power with no accountability! Kudos to you for nabbing it yourself!

Again, you went with someone with more experience. While comparing this statement to the actual job description, it seems to me like getting rejected from a fast food job for lack of experience.

BTW: I know that lies are all a part of the process, but please don't say you have some more candidates to interview Monday, but then call on Saturday to break the news.

Toodles!

My Dinner With Gourmet: Part Two

Part Two: In which I grill my Fiancé about how this dinner touches on all our hopes and fears

For this section of the story to make some sense, we need to establish some facts. My fiancé has more degrees than some doctors and more experience than necessary for every job she has applied for, and was in her second month of unemployment and 12th+ month of underemployment when this all went down. We’re still trying to figure out the employment situation before Fargo bleeds us to death. It’s hard not to feel like life is mocking us most days – when I’m not busy working two jobs and helping to send out 15-30 resumes a week.

So the undercurrent in this whole situation with a stranger coming over to cook us dinner was one of fear of where our lives were headed. A lot of fear mingled with a cup or two of bitterness over the idea that some people are able to pay for such ridiculously overpriced cookware.

The night before the Simplicity Gourmet cook was to arrive, we sat on the couch with a recorder. We turned the conversation to the dinner and how we couldn’t find anyone to join us. Fiancé thought if other people came she wouldn’t be so embarrassed. It would help to have someone there to keep her strong.

Fiancé: It wouldn’t take much for this person to convince me that the pots and pans would fill a hole in my life. Because I’m getting married and therefore I’m happy and this will be the happiest I will ever be, being engaged. This is what I am led to understand. That our whole relationship is based on this one year. The only happy year we have is our engagement year.

Me: Who says that?

Fiancé: Pretty much everyone.

Me: That’s crazy.

Fiancé: There’s a lot of pressure right now. I just didn’t want us to have to go through it alone because I’m really scared of making a mistake. My fear is they are going to come in and just smell how vulnerable I am. They are just going to smell it.

Despite her fears, she was willing to go through with this dinner for me. She knew I needed it, that it would be 90 minutes of utter discomfort. She saw it as one way to help me find my love of writing again. She had been encouraging me to start a blog for a while.

Fiancé: Nothing happens on accident. We have no idea where this story could go. It may not go anywhere, but it’s enough to get you to realize you are not in the right place at this moment. I’ve been pushing left and right – why don’t you blog? Why don’t you journal? Why don’t you do this or that – and none of it landed. But somehow this lit a fire. You’ve gone through worse for me. And when we are on hour three at David’s Bridal...

Me: Keep my trap shut?

Fiancé: Yeah.

We were both unreasonably nervous about this unknown. We had spent hours cleaning the house in order for someone to come and try to sell us stuff. If anything, Fiancé figured she might pick up some sales techniques that she could use to sell herself as a brand to potential employers. We talked about what we had found online about Simplicity Gourmet.

Fiancé: There was a girl that described what happened in a chat room. She said the broccoli was cooking the whole time while they did the 90-minute presentation at a hotel convention room. Then they were both supposed to eat. They got a sprig of broccoli.

Me: Was that the one where someone from the company wrote back?

Fiancé: Yeah.

Me: And they are like, “Sorry, we have a lot of people there. We can’t give broccoli to everybody.”

Fiancé: Yeah.

Me: And it’s like, yeah you can, it’s broccoli.

We created scenarios with each other for the potential evening ahead. Perhaps we would say we did it for the free food, that we are that desperate, and see if he still wanted us to buy the cookware. Perhaps this salesman would slip into the conversation a bit about his sick children. Fiancé thought it would be fun to pretend to have rashes and ask the person for his opinion on our skin conditions. “I’d really like to gross him out somehow,” she said. “That’s terrible of me. Maybe you could just itch your crotch a lot and then shake his hand.”

Deep down, I figured the most likeable person we’ve ever met would come through that door – someone that we would want to be friends with, to have over for board games and popcorn and talk about the latest episode of Fringe. The kind of person that it is very hard to say no to.

I had a friend in college from Texas who had an inability to give up on an idea once it got into his head. He was the type to approach someone who had parked in a handicapped spot and berate her until she walked back to her car to move it. Once he talked me into driving him to the store to buy a camera so he could get a picture of the deer head he had mounted on the end of a rake. When we got back, there were two cop cars by the head. He had to see a counselor.

He’s in banking now.

Me: You know, I imagine they get you to a point where you feel bad that you have to keep saying no. I don’t know what they are going to do, but I feel like they are going to emotionally blackmail us, you know what I mean? Make me feel like I don’t love you if I don’t buy the stuff.

Fiancé: Will that work on you?

Me: I can’t imagine it working.

Fiancé: For me, there has to be major humanity in what this person does. Charts, talking – none of that is going to change me. There has to be pathos, and just that. And real humanity.

Me: Do you think Simplicity Gourmet realizes who they are trying to sell to? People like us.

Fiancé: No, because we’re not your typical bridal couple. We’re supposed to be fresh out of college with amazing jobs.

Me: I just think it’s wrong.

Fiancé: You eventually get the cookware, so they aren’t really scamming you.

Me: I’m not going to fault them for doing what they can to make a buck. But imagine, if we had that money we could pay off your hospital bills. By doing this, we would be putting cookware over your health.

Fiancé: I really want things to be different. Which is why it would work.

Me: Because it would be a way to convince yourself that you are better off than you are. Is doing this going to make you feel horrible?

Fiancé: What do you mean?

Me: Well, you’re crying.

Fiancé: I feel horrible because if you weren’t here I would buy it. It would work. I think that’s why I feel awful about it.

Me: Because I’m the only one keeping you from doing it?

Fiancé: And I’m scared that you are going to fall victim. I just… I firmly believe in karma. I spent the last eight years giving help to students who didn’t always deserve it. I didn’t know that when we really needed it, there wouldn’t be anybody to give us help. I really wanted your brother and sister-in-law here to make sure we didn’t buy anything. I’m scared.

Me: Do you resent me for having to do this?

Fiancé: No. Not at all. It’s something I can do. It’s the only thing I can do for you right now. It’s the only thing I can do for you. I can’t even shop for food without going over budget.

Me: Do you think other couples that they get to are better off and able to pay for this stuff?

Fiancé: I think that my high school insecurities are on the surface with all this. I’m not the perfect bride. It’s just like being in high school again where I was a tomboy and I liked boy things and that was never good and I stayed that way all through college, even in my profession I’m one of the boys. I think the women getting married, everyone else must really have it together. I expect all brides to be put together. And because I’m not put together, I’m not a bride, I’m not what they are looking for. And so I assume that since all the other people must have everything together, that’s why this works. Because they all just must. Otherwise why would that be your target audience?

Me: I still don’t know why I’m doing this.

Fiancé: It’s so that you don’t end up like me. I think it’s fine. I’m just really sorry that I’m the only one that seems to be supporting you. We could both be unemployed. Things could always be worse. Things could be worse.

Me: Can I say something? Thank you.

Fiancé: For what?

Me: For being ok with it. For not saying “I have better ways to spend my time.”

Fiancé: This is my job.

Me: I love you

Fiancé: And I am, no matter what I say, very glad to marry you.

Me: Never had someone say that in an interview before.

Fiancé: Thank goodness.

Next time: Part Three, In Which We Secretly Record Our Evening With Simplicity Gourmet