To whom it may concern: We are two graduating seniors from Cornell, majoring in Gobbledygook and Blahblahblebloo, respectively, and we’d like to recommend ourselves for the positions of Assistant Member of the Domestic and/or International Workforce. As masters of karate and friendship, we have successfully fought the night man and become champions of the sun. Let us take you inside our world. We’re confident that you’ll find it to be a magical place.
R: Can we write this more like an actual cover letter?
R: This isn’t how you write cover letters?
R: This isn’t funny.
R: Not really, no.
This job hunting is not funny. Not even a little. Not even now when R has completely lost her mind, is tearing down our Christmas decorations and going hulk on the package of toilet paper. (R: You won’t like me when I’m angry!) Or even now that we’ve started having nightmares about waking up in frat houses or naked at the company Christmas party.
R: What company? You don’t work for no company!
R: Weren’t you busy ripping up our Christmas tree?
R: IT’S MARCH LET IT GO.
So we’re on the edge of sanity. Whatever Halle Berry lost in the fire; we guarantee you that we have lost more in the snow. First went the humor. Then, most of our vocabulary. Then the Olympics came and took our TV away. Curses!
R: What are you typing? You’re scaring me! Is it about gnomes and magic?
To say that the job hunt is ruining our lives is an understatement. One of us has been so paralyzed by indecision that she has just been sitting around drinking (and she totes doesn’t do that on her decisive days) and the other one can barely speak without spitting out cases or move without ruining someone’s beautiful Christmas decorations. For instance,
R, what’s new?
Off in dreamland …
Sir: I was wondering if you could tell me how you’d estimate the rate of incidence of j in the eye?
Well, sir, I washoping you would ask that! If there are 300 million people living in the Unites States, and, shall we say, 10,000 of them are giving a BJ right now …
Sir: How did you come to that number?
… Well since there are 3 people in the average household, I’d estimate that there are, say, 100 million marriages, and since only 1% of married people like each other, and everyone who likes each other gives each other beejes, we arrive at 10,000.
Sir: Of course. Very good, continue.
Right, so if 10,000 people are involved in m on the p, and 50 percent don’t know what they’re doing, I estimate that the rate of incidence of j-in-eye would be 5,000 out of 300,000,000 people at any given moment.
Sir: Now would you estimate that it’s the girl’s fault? Or is it society’s?
I would say more market research is required.
Sir: Excellent, we’d love to have to come work for us at Wal-Mart!
Back in reality …
R: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO?
R: Oh, I didn’t see you there.
In all seriousness, companies get to be incredibly selective these days. Even masters of karate and friendship are having a hard time impressing the man. The difficulties are compounded by the fact that, at least in Arts and Sciences, Career Services are a career joke. “Turn your weaknesses into strengths!” “Network!” Oh sweet. Sage. Advice.
Who’s going to tell us how to prevent ourselves from coughing uncontrollably in an interview? Or what to do if you fart? Or what kinds of things are funny to bosses (not farts).
R: I’ve never farted without making a conscious decision to.
R: What does that mean?
The job search, we believe, is simply much harder than any job could ever actually be (except perhaps those Ice Trucking gigs). So, the only way we’ve generally been able to deal with this dreadful quagmire is to hang out in our house and make jokes about it. If there are 300 million people in America, how many people are making Sunny references right now? How can we increase the market share of the book Everybody Poops in response to growing competition from the increasingly popular Nobody Poops But You? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop? Why can’t they just google these things?
R: Sidebar: If you are at an interview at Google and they ask you these questions is the correct answer to just google it?
When your Dad cares so much about the interview you just had that he doesn’t give a shit that you fell and bloodied yourself in the middle of the street, have things gone too far?
Most definitely. For what it’s worth, here’s some advice. HAH! (1) Allow yourself to sink into insanity; it will make the monotony and heartbreak easier. Approach the situation with some humor. If that guy at Bain thought were an airhead, remember, there are three hundred million people in the United States, right!
R: And the majority of them are airheads.
(2) Do not make poop jokes in your interview or on the Internet (R: oops).
R: What was that advice you just gave?
R: Advice? That doesn’t sound like me.
(3) Oh right, bring deodorant with you. (4) Don’t panic; life isn’t as long as it seems. (5) Google image “Tea-Cup Pig.” (6) And as always, if you’re feeling excessively anxious and you don’t have access to a xanax (sucks!) check in with the puppy cam on ustream.
Good night and Good luck,
R and R
Original Author: Rachel Gevirtz