You are currently browsing the daily archive for December 8, 2011.
I realize it’s been more than a little while since I’ve had to look for work. It was – OMG – before the turn of the century, when I last performed a “cold call” job search. Sure, I changed jobs during that time, but then I had an extensive network of insiders setting me on the fast track to employment nirvana. My old contacts are just that now . . . OLD . . . retired to Tahiti, put out to pasture, or relegated to positions where their senility will cause as little harm as possible. Boy, oh boy, have things changed. Today the process of ferreting out a job has been electronified. I know, electronified isn’t a word, but it should be ‘cause that’s exactly what’s happened. Nothing can proceed in the real world until the requirements of the virtual world are met and there’s the rub.
SEO-type software is often the first obstacle to overcome. My resume and/or application will be examined with an electronic eye to determine if I have the basic qualifications the potential employer desires. In other words, no human discretion will be used in this initial assessment. Stupid spiders can’t be dazzled with the brilliance of my writing skills and will send me straight to the shredder should I fail to satisfy their grubby, little appetites for repetitious goo. I’m a smart gal and I can make the creepy crawlers happy by designing a masterpiece of “job duties” and “required skills” plagiarism. Come on, it’s all right there in the job posting and I know how to cut and paste. Duh.
Provided the insidious insects are sated, this compilation of mind-numbing glop is passed on to a real live human. Worse, in the case of the technically-challenged organization, it will go directly to this poor schmuck. This pitiable individual has already been tortured with reading the 50 piles of crap arriving prior to mine. If those applicants have also provided the requisite spider slime, the unfortunate breather will doubtless be a blithering idiot at best and most likely completely comatose. Let’s say, my maggot-num opus actually reaches the desk of someone still able to put three words together in a coherent sentence. This tour de farce will – and rightly so – be delivered unceremoniously to the nearest trash heap.
So my struggle to create that perfect balance of literary luminosity and bug bait continues thus far with little-to-no success. Did I mention this work of genius must be two pages or less? I’m confident I have the experience and ability to exceed all expectations as well as the performance of any predecessors once I’ve secured a position. We all know how wonderful I am. Hey, you in the peanut gallery . . . we don’t need your disparaging commentary, so stuff a sock in it.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I’m flooding the electronoverse with my perpetually-revised, self promotion and waiting for an opportunity to deal with the next hurtle. What could possibly stand between me and the job of my dreams (read any flippin’ thing that pays the bills)? How do I help some poor child – that hasn’t filled as many posts as I had before they were out of diapers – get through the interview process and recognize my virtuosity? But then that’s another story.