Thank you for letting me know that you will not be pursuing
me for the posted position. I appreciate a form letter versus a black hole like
Target or Celarity. After being in the rejection business for a few months, I
have to draw your attention to one sentence that keeps popping up in letter
after letter. I believe you wrote it with all good intentions, but it is
ultimately aggravating beyond belief, and makes me wish bad things upon you.
That sentence is:
“After reviewing your resume and carefully considering your
qualifications, we have decided to pursue other candidates who more closely
match the skills and credentials required for the position.”
Here’s another example:
“However, we have filled the job with a candidate whose
qualifications more closely align with the requirements for this position.”
Why is this aggravating? I have to tell you, I don’t
spend much time applying to job openings that are not in my wheelhouse. Of the
30 jobs I applied to last week, two of them were a bit outside my range, but
only in some of the duties listed. So to say that there are candidates whose
qualifications more closely match the skills and credentials required is like
saying you found an ice cream that more closely matches the qualities and taste
of ice cream than ice cream. What I’m saying is that your attempt to
rationalize your decision doesn’t make logical sense, and becomes even more
insulting since it then appears you did not look at my credentials and
qualifications to see how well they match the position.
This would not be constructive criticism unless I offered
an alternative. Here is a rejection letter that made me perfectly happy.
“Thank you for your interest in our Marketing
Communications Specialist position in our Minneapolis office. We regret
to inform you that we have filled this position. We appreciate your interest in
opportunities with us, and will retain your information for consideration for
future openings. We wish you the best of success in your employment search.”
Rather than attempt to tell me why I didn’t get a call, the
company just politely thanks me, tells me that the position was filled, and
leaves with a nice (even if form-letter-level-sincere) wish for success. Quick
rejection sandwiched in between two slices of politeness. Thank you, company! I
will keep an eye on future opportunities with you!
Here’s another one:
“Thank you for your interest in working at The Loft Literary
Center. You were one of 130 qualified applicants for the posted job of
marketing coordinator. I wanted to let you know that we’ve narrowed the search
to five candidates that do not include your application. Thank you for giving
us a chance to review your qualifications and interest in the literary arts.”
This one was appreciated because it didn’t offer any
trite reasons for not choosing me, and it had the benefit of letting me know how
stiff the competition was. I feel better knowing I wasn’t in the top five out
of 130 people. I have interviewed in person for several jobs knowing I was in
the top 5-10 out of more than 100 applicants, so I know I’m up there, just not
for this particular position. Once I have a job, I’ll probably look into
volunteering at The Loft, or using their services.
Anyway, if you are in charge of writing these rejection
form letters, please keep in mind the implications of writing vague reasons for
not choosing an applicant. I’m sure the process is usually an individual choice
based on what you are looking for, and the reasons for rejecting people are as
varied as the number of applicants, so to reduce your reasons to something that
is simply not true for each applicant insults the applicants and reduces the
perceived value of the work you do for the company.
Sincerely,
One of the hundreds of applicants you rejected today
I feel I should explain my comment, but to do so, we have to rewind the clock.
I started the day driving the wife to work, a drive where we saw two people spin out, one car accident, and a lot of congestion during the 20 minute commute that was 50 minutes today.
The next thing of note. I went to Michael's to return a Christmas gift we received last week, since Christmas was postponed with wife's family due to the wedding. I brought the gift and receipt to the counter, mentioning that it was a gift and that I planned to get some picture frames with the return.The guy said since it was bought more than 90 days ago, I couldn't return it. Never mind that it was a gift, that we didn't get it until recently, and so on. He said they've gotten in trouble for returning such things, even unopened with the original receipt. He said I couldn't even return it without a receipt for whatever it was selling for today. I left with the unwanted gift, and no picture frames.
Next I went to Target to get a refill on Wife's epi-pen, the emergency shot I am to give her if she ever has a horrible reaction to her allergy shots. It had two refills left, but the last time we did so was in Moorhead, since they last a year. Turns out Target doesn't carry generic epi-pens, so it was a no go. I did get two nice picture frames though.
Then I went to WalGreens to do a refill at a place we haven't filled from before.
I was having a day. Lots of crap going on, including thinking a lot about my family and how I'm going to be taking a break from them for a while for reasons I don't want to write about.
Then, I walked into the gas station to get some cigs. I walked in after you. You were a 65-year-old short woman with tinted glasses, brandishing a cellphone above your head and making a beeline for the counter, where the clerk was helping a customer.
"I've been trapped in your carwash for 15 minutes, honking. I can't get my car out. I have 911 on the phone."
The clerk chuckled a bit, I don't know why, perhaps because the way you held your phone up above your head as proof, perhaps because working at a gas station is a suckfest of drudgery, and this was something that hadn't happened before. Granted, it was insensitive. You snapped:
"It's not funny!"
The clerk got the attention of another store worker. She came over to help. You repeated your story, still holding your cellphone like it had AIDS, or you were trying to get reception. I wondered what was going on with the 911 operator on the other end while you waved the cellphone around.
"I have 911 on the phone right now!"
The second clerk chuckled at this.
"It's not funny."
Instantly, I thought how we are all tied together. Me with my shitty day. You with your shitty 15 minutes stuck in a car wash. The clerks with their shitty day trying to keep the floors clean despite the new dirty snow tracked in each second. All our lives suck today, and we all need a bit of respite from an uncaring universe to remember that none of it matters, and the most you can hope for is a Vonnegut-like post-modern perspective that the only point is to find some humor in the craziness.
It's a mix of emotions when you leave a job for the great unknown. On the one hand, you spent five years of your life working for a company. You've gotten along great with your coworkers, and for the most part you enjoyed the work, which is all one can really ask for. You feel guilty for leaving, even, though events are out of your hands. You feel a strong loyalty for the company, and keep your online social life anonymous to protect your coworkers and employer from any possible negative perceptions - since although you don't write poorly of them, your online persona is not professional and could cause problems by association. You leave guilty because the work you have done is going to be put on your coworkers who you've relied on and helped in the past. They are your team.
On the other hand, there was little future at the company for you, and you worked under the constant fear that one of your coworkers will be leaving, never to be replaced and all that extra work will go on you without any compensation or hope that things will get better down the road. You leap into the great unknown feeling hopeful, good about whatever opportunities may come along.
Then, down the road, you decide to have a Web page put together, a creative portfolio where you can send potential employers rather than clog their inboxes with 11 gigabyte pdf files. You get the idea to put testimonials on the site, a few sentences from former colleagues and businesses you've worked with on a freelance basis. You've always been a supportive co-worker and felt comfortable conversing with your teammates. You send a request for such quotes. The photographer you worked with writes up wonderfully kind words, the writer who left for other pastures composes a glowing quote, the business you helped with brochure copy and a feature article positively croons for you.
Then you get an email from the writers you left behind.
"We talked to the boss, and now we are uncomfortable with having our names and the company listed on an open website as references/testimonials. If you want statements that would go to a specific person or company, let us know. Sorry from both of us."
Hey, think you could help pull out all these knives?
Initially, I was hurt and shocked that they wouldn't help me out, even considering the site would only be used for employers that request an online portfolio. I was angry at all the time I had spent consoling one of the writers who would weekly come to me for advice on a story or how to deal with the boss to the point I worried she would have a nervous breakdown. I was angry at the other writer who had been a good colleague and friend to share "war" stories with about reporting certain issues or dealing with certain organizations.
Then it dawned on me that they weren't the issue. I had already forgotten the culture of fear that had been used over the past few years, slowly getting worse with each week. They have become afraid for their jobs after seeing a half dozen others leave their positions never to be replaced, which only sends one message, everyone is expendable, and do not call attention to yourself. I had forgotten that I spent the last few years doing my best not to remind my boss that I worked there by quietly going about my work and getting everything done on time. It had slowly grown dark from the early days in the office, tone-wise. I used to leave my office and converse with my coworkers more often in the first few years of working there. But over time, I learned to keep my mouth shut, stay in my hole, and not risk sticking my head out for fear of having it declared unnecessary. I think the writers in the office felt this in their bones more than the designers and other creative talent. The writers were never replaced.
In the end, the rejection for a simple quote hurt, but it also reminded me how lucky I am to have moved away from such an environment, where the very air can leech away your happiness.
On Saturday, we woke and had our free breakfast, packed, and
checked out to head to the next hotel. The doorman hailed a cab for us, asked
where we were going. We said The Waldorf Astoria. His eyes lit up. “Woah, nice!”
A short $5 cab ride later, we were at the Waldorf drop off
spot inside. We left the bags with the doorman down there and made our way
through a series of hallways to the front desk. Check in was a breeze, even at
noon. The clerk upgraded us for the honeymoon and found us a ready to go room
on the 25th floor and said the bags would be up in 15 minutes.
We went immediately from the front desk to the room to wait
for the bags. Oh, My, God, this room was nice! So nice that we barely left it
for the next two days, so this will be my shortest entry. The bed was made of
unicorn hair and angel feathers. The television was bigger than both of ours
put together.
The only hiccup was the bags took more than an hour to
arrive. When we called down to see what was going on, they said we weren’t in
the room when they came by, which I don’t see how that’s possible, but
whatever.
The bags arrived, and we took a short tour of the hotel. The
starlight room, the grand ballroom, the gift shop where ordinary tweezers cost
$22. I saw more fur coats than could be supplied by French Canadian traders.
Wife ordered a movie on the television, The Big Year, which
was just ordinary enough to be a nice diversion. I was ordered to go find food
at the sushi place near Rockefeller center. As I headed there, a couple blocks
away, I saw a bunch of people looking up at a building behind me. I turned and
saw this year's version of this thing begin.
Unfortunately, the sushi place was closed for Christmas Eve.
So I headed back to the hotel, and came across another sushi place. Yay! I got
what seemed good, but turned out to be OK sushi. By the time I got back to the
room, an hour after I left, Wife was sure I had been killed. On the plus side,
the hotel had sent us a complimentary bottle of in-house champagne to enjoy on
our honeymoon.
Other things we did: Tried to find the Marilyn Monroe subway
vent, but while it was on our map, there was no visible marking on the street. Ate
Christmas brunch at Oscars, which was not good. Watched the Christmas episode
of Doctor Who on BBC America, when it aired!
One last anecdote. Life among the 1% for these two days was
a strange trip. Wife would talk to cleaning people like there were human, and
you could tell hardly anyone ever does that. But here’s the real story of what
happened to me.
I came back with some food on Sunday, and I waited for the
elevator with another guy. We got on and two more people got on as well. They
pushed floor 23. And I swear this is what went through my head as I pushed the
button for 25.
“Huh, only floor 23.”
I became a douchebag for being two floors higher through no
fault of my own. What the hell! But then I got out-douchebagged, since the
first guy that got on looked at the buttons, and as the doors shut, he said “Oh,
this one doesn’t go to floor 31.”
He rode up to my floor and took the elevator back down.
Ugh.
On Monday, after packing and repacking to make sure our bags
were both under 50 pounds for the flight, we took the supershuttle to the
airport through a lot of backstreets while wife chatted with another passenger,
used our groupon coupons for the Delta Sky Lounge where they had free internet
and free drinks, and made our way back to the cities. I had feared the day
after Christmas for the reputed congestion at airports, but it was much better
than I had imagined. At this point, we
were near the end of our budget, and worried we would have to spend 70 bucks
for a taxi to Plymouth. This was the only part of the trip Wife hadn’t planned,
because in the back of her mind, we weren’t going to get this far. This day
would never come. However, we came across a supershuttle booth at the airport,
and got home for $40. This time I remembered my bag.
Wife has been watching 30-Rock ever since, dreaming of the
day we will go back.
Thursday was
mostly a recovery day for us. Wife had to rest her feet so she could go to the
dinner and show reservations we had at Carolines comedy club. I read book 2 of
the Hunger Games to her until she fell asleep. I then went for a walk while it
was still daylight. I decided to head to Central Park since it didn’t appear
that a carriage ride would survive the “to do” list cuts with our ever
shrinking budget, and Wife’s feet were not going to be happy walking in the
park.
Granted, it
was December, and nothing’s green in December, but I was rather disappointed in
Central park. I walked through about half of it, past a carousel, a large green
area, and so on. Perhaps it’s because I come from a place where green spaces
aren’t such a novelty, but Central Park was a lot like any other park, except
for the old bridges all over. But I had my i-pod shuffle and listened to The
Nerdist guys interview JJ Abrams, so it was a nice stroll. I walked up to the
Museum of Natural History, ate a hot dog, and hopped back on the subway to get
back to the hotel.
We got to
Carolines well before we needed to, so we spent more time gazing at Times
Square and visited the M&M store, where we loaded up on candy and some
Christmas gifts. At Carolines, we ate a mediocre meal and could hear the
muffled noises from the showroom that could only be Gilbert Godfrey. He was the
8 p.m. show. This was also the first place we went to where there was a
bathroom attendant. I do not know what to do with a bathroom attendant. He
turned on the water, pushed the soap pump, and handed me a paper towel. I felt
awkward, and wondered why this position still existed, as I have never thought,
if only there were someone here to pump the soap for me, what a bother! I
immediately warned wife about the situation, as she would surely feel equally
out of place. Here’s her recap of her encounter. Just imagine someone speaking
louder than usual.
Wife: Hi!
Attendant: Good
evening.
Wife: I am a
bathroom attendant virgin! I don’t know what to do!
Attendant:
OK.
Wife: I will
now run away!
After a
delay, where we watched Gilbert Godfrey take photos with people and sign
autographs, we were let into our VIP seats, a long bench with a table where we
could both sit to face the stage. There was a table for 8 between us and the
microphone, but I knew our placement would make Wife nervous. I have always
wanted to go to a comedy show in New York, but Wife is deathly afraid of having
to talk to the comic or getting picked on. We were at “the Chosen Ones” show, a
Jewish line up for the holiday season.
The night
was hosted by Rich Vos
And included
Harrison Greenbaum
Myq Kaplan
Bonnie
McFarlane
And Adam
Newman
And another
one that wasn’t on the bill. Every time a new comedian came up, I feared they
would look straight ahead and start asking me or Wife questions. This was a
potential catastrophe. However, it didn’t happen.
Instead,
when Bonnie McFarlane was doing some crowd work to lead into a bit, she asked
the table behind us “Do you have any secret fetishes?”
I turned to
look back.
“Yes!”
The yes did
not come from behind me. I looked at Wife in terror. I looked at the comedian.
I looked back at wife. The comedian indicated she wasn’t talking to Wife. Wife
put her hands on her mouth and turned beet red “Oh my god!” The comedian
rolled with it.
Comedian:
What is it?
Me: I would
like to know as well.
Wife: We’ve
been married for four days! I’m sorry!
We got a
round of applause, which was nice. The comedian went into her bit and we all recovered
from the awkward. Over the next 4 days, Wife would bring it up again and again.
“I’m so embarrassed. I don’t even know if I have a fetish. I just assume
everyone has one. Oh god!”
Friday was
our day to explore the southern part of Manhattan. The plan was to go to
Battery Park to see the Statue of Liberty, and make our way north to Little
Italy and Chinatown. Wife did her sleeping in thing, and we left the hotel at 4
to start our day. Two subway trains later, we got out at Battery Park just as
the sun dipped below the horizon and the last tour boat came in. It was dark,
but there were a lot of people leaving the park. We decided to walk to the
water by the boat to sit and take pictures.
It was dark,
and as we walked I could hear a rustling in the leaves to our left.
Me: Whoa!
Was that a squirrel?
Wife: Yes,
keep moving.
We got to a
bench, and were much more alone now. I took out the camera and tried to steady
it enough for a night shot. More rustling.
Wife: Holy
shit, lift your feet! Now!
Me: What?
Wife: That
was a rat. A rat was there. A rat. There. That was. Let’s go! Eeeuahughfaha.
Me: OK.
We walked
briskly through the park to find some solace from the rats. Wife had a knack
for seeing them everywhere, while I was always a beat too late when she pointed
and yelled. I stood in the middle of a large cement area thinking it might be
safe and took this picture.
Wife said a
rat came within 3 inches of my foot while I took it.
Here’s her
recap of the scene:
“In my entire life, I've seen 3
rats. 2 near garbage sacks in the North End of Boston, and one in my room
near Boston College. Husband decided to let me sleep one day, and we went
to see the statue of Liberty. We didn't want to do a ferry or anything,
so we just went to Battery Park around 5:30pm. No big deal. But, it
was DARK. REALLY, REALLY DARK. Husband heard a rustle in the
bushes. I knew it was a rat, but I let Husband believe it was a
squirrel. As he is snapping pictures of the Statue, the rats began to run
in herds. I'm serious. All their little eyes showing in the bushes,
like deer eyes here. They just ran everywhere. Across the sidewalk
in front of us, behind us, everywhere. I freaked the fuck out. I started
running and screaming out of Battery Park. Husband, who never really saw
them at this point, didn't understand. And, then he did. We
got into the light and the subway station safe and sound. So, my only
memory of the Statue of Liberty is of the rats.”
We got on
the subway, and I worked to convince Wife to continue on the outing rather than
run back to the hotel. We got off at a stop near Chinatown, and although I knew
what street we were looking for and had a good mental map in my head, the thing
about coming up from underground is you have no idea which direction you are
going until you can confirm it by walking a block in one direction. After that
block, and walking past a dozen shops where people were hard selling purses,
scarves, perfume and watches, I wanted to look at the map to confirm the
direction. Wife said under no circumstances was I to pull out the map. We then
fought for about 6 blocks, just walking along until some street name looked
familiar, but none did, and I wasn’t allowed to pull a map out because if SVU and
the media has taught us anything about New York, it’s that if you look like a
tourist, you will get mugged, raped, and stabbed. Wife had correlated me
looking at a map and getting stabbed, on a well lit street, with lots of people
around. I couldn’t convince her otherwise. Finally, she stopped, cried, I
consoled, we looked at the map, and we had been walking in the exact opposite
direction we needed to go.
We started
back, I apologized profusely, she continued freaking out about getting stabbed
because who the hell knows what neighborhoods are safe at night? Then, like a
switch, we entered Little Italy, and she was at peace. She was back among her
people in the North End of Boston, another heavily Italian place where she
lived for two years. We found Lombardi’s pizza place and had dinner of half
meatball, half prociutto pizza with fresh mozzarella baked in a wood oven. We
found a wonderful italian bakery and took home mini cannolis and tarts.
Checked in
after so much hassle, Wife and I finally got into the room. I checked for
bedbugs. She changed into her PJs and started directing me to put our clothes
into the drawers since we would be here for 5 nights. Then she fell asleep.
I decided to
take a stroll around the immediate neighborhood to get my bearings. Central
Park was 2 blocks away to the north, Times square about 10 blocks to the south.
David Hyde Pierce was doing a play on the same block. All in all, it looked
promising. I got some food from a deli and headed back to the room for the
night. This was going to be all right.
On Tuesday,
Wife woke at about noon, and only because we had to get going to see the
Rockettes. It was her dream since she was a small girl to see them. I was
indifferent to the whole thing. We walked to Radio City Music Hall, about 5
blocks, and went in.
The place
was amazing to see all decked out for the holiday and designed for another era.
The men's bathroom had a lounge area and old nooks for phones. The stage was
impressive from our spot in the second mezzanine, which turned out to be better
than I imagine the floor would be since you can see more of the stage and the
patterns they create from above.
I didn’t
know what to expect, and have to say that I was thoroughly impressed. The
Rockettes certainly earn their reputation. I was dragged to the Russian Ballet
a year or two ago in Fargo for the Nutcracker, and I have to say this was miles
above that experience. They performed songs and dances in near Busby Berkely precision,
one after another. The only drawback was a few portions of the program used 3D
glasses, which are annoying in general, but seem particularly weird when you
are at a live show for criminy sake.
When the
show was done, we headed a block over to see the Rockefeller Center tree.
As we were already there, and Wife
knowing my love of going to the top of tall things, she overcame her fear of
heights for us to go to the Top of the Rock, my absolute favorite thing of the
whole trip.
Wife let me
wander around while she sat safely away from the edge of the building. New York is breathtaking at night.
Night
settled in early, near the shortest day of the year. We headed over to Times
Square to check it out. It turned out to be Wife’s favorite spot to just sit
and watch once the first feeling of panic from so many people and lights calms
down.
We nearly got tickets to go see a
show that night, but decided against another commitment and instead went back
to the hotel. We went to a shoe store to get Wife some walking shoes, Borns,
for the rest of the trip. Then across the street to Carnegie Deli.
Food in New
York is pricey, but Carnegie Deli will charge you 25 bucks for a Ruben and give
you a heart attack in a pie tin. Piled in this pie tin, on top of two thin
slices of bread, was several pounds of corned beef, a thin layer of sauerkraut,
and a thick shield of melted cheese. The two of us attacked it, bite after delicious,
sinful bite, but still left a third for the trash, our hotel having no
mini-fridge for leftovers. We also got a $10 slice of cheesecake that made me
want to get it pregnant.
Day four:
Wife at this
point was showing a pattern of extreme relaxation. Her ability to stay in bed
until afternoon was impressive, but with the short daylight hours available, I
was anxious to get going for another day in New York. We left the hotel at
about 3, me worrying that the Museum of Natural History would only be open
until 5:30. Not a block away from the hotel, Wife said her heels were getting
cut to shreds by her new shoes. She stopped and pulled off a shoe.
Me: How the
hell? We aren’t even a block away!
Her: I know.
I’m sorry.
Me: Would it
help to have more socks?
Her: I think
so.
Me: Take
mine.
I pulled off
my shoes and socks and handed them to her. It seemed to help, and I didn't mind going hippie fashion all day. We hopped on the
subway and got to the Museum at 3:30. We discovered very different levels of
interest in the museum. I wanted to see the space stuff, she wanted to look at
dioramas of dead birds. We went through her bits first, and she left me to
check out the space part while she did the gift shop.
We went back to the
subway, and found that Wife had lost her metrocard along the way. So between me
losing my bag, her shoes, and the card, we were $200 over budget. Sigh.
We left at
closing, had a hot dog, and went to Times Square. Bought two tickets at 40
percent off to Avenue Q for that evening. The musical is full of puppet
characters singing and learning about life post-college, and it’s a blast.
Personal favorite song: Everyone’s A Little Racist.
After the
musical, we were standing outside ready to walk to the nearby subway when a
freak rainstorm came roaring down the street. Umbrellas were comically turned
inside out, people scampered for cover. Wife begged to take a taxi, but I have
a fear of cars in the city after the supershuttle I would not be swayed from.
The nearest subway station was just half a block away, and we scampered to it
after the wind died a bit.
We got
through the gate only to realize the trains were going the wrong way. The only
way to get to the northbound train was to exit, go back to the street, and walk
another half block in the rain. We got there and found our “unlimited” metro
cards wouldn’t work since we just used them on the other side. I was livid at
having to buy two more single ride passes, not knowing how long it would be
until our own cards would work again, but we made it back to the hotel. Wife
took off her shoes and bloody socks and I felt like a complete creep for
pushing us around the city with about quarter size holes in the back of her
feet.
I went and
got a Carnegie Deli brisket meal because I never want my body to forget how
much I hate it. We ate like wild dogs and slept like housecats.
