Reading job descriptions. I wonder who this supreme human is with twelve years of experience, sufficient qualifications, impeccable references, endless availability on weekends, and all the “preferred” skills.
It does not sound like a person I would want to know.
Then there is the occasional startup trying to brand itself as ever so hip, some sort of millennial-whisperer. Yesterday a travel website said applicants must love “Chipotle and spontaneous singing.”
I could send a cover letter mimicking this voice and pretending I find everything Terribly Funny, but I don’t. Oddly enough I think an employer should feed their idiosyncratic fetishes on their own time.
Dare I say it? Someone outstretching their hand with the promise of money, and I lowly proletariat mention it is covered in spit.
Ah well, I must develop a taste for it, and Chipotle in the process.
It’s all so funny, simply hysterical—doing work we’d rather not, for money, which we need, but would rather not.
Oh, we are all guffawing as we revise our resumes once again, and send them as triple-checked attachments or IN BODY OF EMAIL ONLY—a request that makes beautiful formatting impossible, mind you—and we keep smirking as we perform evaluation tests on cue, and send polite followup letters, just hoping someone finds it all amusing enough to hit “reply!”