Princess of the World

Welcome! Looking for work can be absolutely hideous, can’t it? The excruciating slowness of redoing your resume to tailor it for each application, crafting your words to be concise and effective, spell checking until your F7 is worn out and sticky… Nightmare!

Oh. What? You don’t…? Huh.

I KNOW YOU DON’T, IDIOTS. HERE IS MY IDIOT GUIDE TO GETTIN’ A JOB. Use it.

Be wary of putting your photo on your resume. That lady at the club (you know the joint, the place in the industrial estate just near the end of the subway line?) may wanna bone you, but it’s pretty unlikely I want to bone you. Furthermore, looking at your teen stache can be very confronting and raises all sorts of questions for me about you and EVERYTHING YOU BELIEVE IN. Obviously I maintain the strictest standards of employment fairness, and will not discriminate against you for any reason, including your prepubescent pubic hair lip, it’s just harder when your wiggly caterpillar lip is all starin’ at me from the top of the page.

Don’t tell me that you are looking for an exalting, exhilarating, excellent exercise to exhaust your excitement! I will have to punch you in the face for sure.

Be careful with your adjectives and hyperbole. If you are in fact unquestionably and masterfully relentless in your pursuit of the best and thus can GUARANTEE A PRODIGIOUS PERFORMANCE, I will hopefully figure that out by your RELEVANT FUCKING WORK EXPERIENCE. If, for example, you are a financial analyst applying for a job in my arts organisation, perhaps you could shut the fuck up about your dick and tell me WHY your skills apply rather than how fucking great you are.

If the person posting the job is kind (and foolish) enough to give you their actual name and email (because they’re a big sucky pants and can’t get in touch with the web admin to set up a temporary one) then SPELL THEIR NAME RIGHT. That said, it saves a huge amount of time if you call me Sasha or add an e to the end of my surname, because I don’t need to bother to read your resume. Don’t bother to check your own application? Why should I?

Using acronyms is optimistic. Whilst I am thrilled that you were tapping the SMERF market, you must understand that what I’m picturing is not what you’re going for. Probably.

Overlooking your staff is quite different to overseeing them. Heads up. (Ha! See what I did?)

Capitalising Every Word Is Pretty Creepy. And If You’re Going To Track Your Changes Please Be Very Sure I Can’t See Them. “I am diligent and punctual (lol! You? Punctual?)…” Good to know, thank you mystery editor.

That’s all folks. I would love to give you all a chance to show me how great you are in person, because I know that you (most of you anyway) have spent time working on your resume, going to school, doing courses, volunteering and that everyone deserves to work. I love my job and I love having the opportunity to learn, succeed, grow as a person and, on another level, buy shit that I like. I wish you the best in your job search and even if you’re not quite right for me this time (and with close to 350 applications the odds are long), you’ll be right for someone, for sure. Thank you for applying.

For those of you who couldn’t be bothered to tailor your resume, to address it to me or include the job title, let alone address the description I posted, you’re. doing. it. wrong.

And finally, for the resume that said “I successfully mastered flower arrangement techniques” I fucking love you. That is the absolute greatest line I’ve heard this week and it absolutely tickles me. Thank you.

So I have face leprosy. I don’t know what’s causing it but it’s up there with lulu lemon pants and people who don’t bring wine to parties (way to go Canada, who the fuck are you people?*) for being pretty gosh darn annoying. First it was just my forehead, then it moved down to my neck and throat and now my PERFECT SHELL LIKE EARS ARE TRYING TO KILL ME WITH ITCHINESS. It’s been over a week and I feel like that’s quite long enough, thank you very much.

I assume I’m now allergic to my own dreadfully good taste, as what else could be setting me off other than my constantly delightful surroundings? Is it that casually placed coffee table book on the Golden Age of Handbuilt Bicycles? The carefully arranged art? Or the vintage cigar boxes with jewellery in them? Sigh. Who could say? Probably a doctor. The one I went to however (who had me in and out in under 30 seconds FOR REAL, and who may or may not have gone to an actual medical school) claimed it was probably due to the change in weather. That diagnosis is the medical equivalent of scratching your crotch and nodding when someone asks how to get to the bus station… um, what? And whilst I am sort of intrigued by having a weather beacon face, I think (and I’m basically a doctor having watched the Biggest Loser on TV a bunch of times) it’s probably due to terrible diet, lack of exercise, busyness and a hint of stress. Shall work on that… tomorrow.

How are you? Are you well? Me? Oh, a little leprosy, nothing to worry about.

*Now, here’s the thing guys, you’re supposed to bring a bottle of wine (or whatever you drink) every time you come, not once every two years. Also, if there are two of you drinking wine, you should probably bring two bottles, or one really nice one. Here are some tips from the nice folks at the globe and mail.