Dear Hiring Manager,
Hello…it’s me. The resume you have shoved next to all of the other resumes, cramped in your stuffy, dusty, and mildly musty filing cabinet. I’ve tried to kick, scream, and shout for your attention but, in all of my rioting attempts, you seem to be oblivious to my existence.
Why won’t you give me a chance? I am here for a reason. I am representing my person— the human that is applying to your company— the one that is itching to launch her career, but discouraged from the lack of response. Why are you ignoring me? I promise, my person is certainly worth your time, but I can only speak so much for her, what with my lack of a vocal box and all. You must speak to her directly in order to discover her talents and evaluate her goodness of fit for your company.
I have met many other resumes, just like myself, dying to earn your attention, as well. Crinkles line their 8x10 frame and tiny lacerations expose their age. They must have been here for months —nay, years. Why is it that you brush us off as though we are irrelevant? How else will my person enter the workforce if you do not release me from this unlit box you have locked me in? I can hear you, chattering and laughing amongst colleagues, and I wonder how you can feel so giddy when you are sitting next to a cemetery of resumes. This is the place my folks go to sleep for a lengthy eternity.
Why even post a job opportunity, if you are going to ignore us all, anyway? I get it. You don’t trust us. We are inanimate objects, totally biased to our creators. We are red flags to you, running the risk of wasting your time. You prefer a referral from a contact you are familiar with. Those are the lucky resumes; they are at the top of the resume hierarchy. They’re the slutty resumes— the ones that get attention from so many hiring managers without ever meeting this confining filing cabinet. It simply isn’t fair, if you ask me. But you didn’t, so I digress.
Well, hiring manager, I am here on a mission. While I am not the only ingredient to landing her a job, I am certainly the wind that opens the door. But I am failing her and you are of no help. Do you know how many hours she spent meticulously constructing me? I know facts about her, little blurbs that she chose to tell me. But she could not fit her personality onto me. I am two-dimensional. I am a piece of fancy paper after all! If you would give my person a chance, you would learn that she is so much more than me. She is motivated, compassionate, hardworking, creative, friendly, and willing to roll up her sleeves when the going gets tough. She is not me, this piece of paper with little excerpts.
You wouldn’t know that, though, because you have not even bothered to give me a second glance. You wouldn’t even give me the time of day—no really, I have asked multiple times but I am muffled by my inability to verbally speak. Anyway, I know you’re type. You’re such a tease. You lure us vulnerable resumes in, representing our eager entry-level humans, and you water that seed inside of them that makes them feel as though the whole world is in their hands. You welcome me, the resume, with open arms. What a terribly deceitful act that is, for you shove me in your resume funeral home and cast clouds above the human’s head, completely blocking the sun’s rays from doing their magical growing rituals. And that seed that was heavily watered is now just floating around in soggy soil.
Please let me out. It’s crowded and depressing in here. I would like to see the light of your office for more than the few seconds it takes for you to open up the drawer and store yet another resume beside my newfound friends and I. Listen, I get it. I’m not so exciting, what with the generic Times New Roman accessorizing my figure— totally lifeless. But that’s the point. I am only a fragment of a reflection of my person. You must read me and contact her to uncover new layers that I could not possibly be capable of doing for her.
Go on, open the drawer, pick me up, and give me attention! I’m needy, I know. I promise, I am worth it. I am worth it because my person is worth it, if only you would read me first.
Sincerely,
A Very Neglected Resume
