I figured, as an homage to my new writerly (I really think that should be a word) site, I would whore my skills out for some jobbifying wondergoodness.
Clearly, I’m going to be hired on as a writer. People are going to be scrambling not only to get me to write them epic poems for which they will pay thousands upon thousands of dollars for, but also to patent my new words.
But here’s the real thing – the job market sucks. Finding even a part-time job for youth is like a 0 in a million chance. You know why 0? Because every job has prerequisites for which you need a prerequisite 3 imaginary years during which you would have been working and studying simultaneously in some weird space-time-continuum like Hermione Granger was in Harry Potter.
So, yeah, 0 in a million chance. (Unless you’re covered in awesome-sauce.)
But I’m going to go for it anyway, because I have ovaries of steel and it’s about damn time I move out of my parents house. Yes, from the moment I press the “Publish” button, this becomes public knowledge. What else does it become? Nothing. This despicable fact loses all hold over me.
Oh. Hold on – YES MOM, I WANT DINNER.
NO, NO GREEN PEPPERS.
Getting back on track now, here is a letter to all future employers:
Hello future HR representative,
I am the kicking-assest writer that has ever walked the earth. You know that guy that said that writers being egotists was a myth? That man was a liar.
I fucking rock. And you can’t judge my writing simply based on my blog. Oh no – you have to take a gander around this lovely website and look at all my publications. I say this with great humility. Through a megaphone, but with humility. Especially that part about being in Metro.
But not only do I fucking rock, I rock because of the following reasons:
- I knit shit for you when you have a tough work week.
- I taunt you with coffee in the morning. It might taste like feces, but it smells divine.
- I push my deadlines up a week (if I can) (at least in school I did this with long-term projects) so that I have time to revisit my work and make it perfecter than perfect.
- I chit-chat and listen to griping. I enjoy this. Sometimes, I gripe. I hope you’ll listen.
- I care about my work. A lot. And if you give me interesting projects, I will run with them like a horse with a carrot and come back as a magical unicorn.
- I joke when life requires joking, and I get shit done when shit needs to get done.
- I am a sponge. Feed me interesting new processes, information, or useless facts, and I shape-shift that into efficient gettin’-‘er-done-ness.
And many other valuable coworker qualities.
All this and a bag of chips if you hire me. And that’s the key word there, isn’t it. Hire. Someone needs to pay me money to do something interesting soon, or else I will obtain a dour, bitter film all over my skin that will make me angry at all employed people everywhere, and I will have to stop leaving my home and become a hermit.
And I really love Tim Horton’s but they don’t deliver so I can’t become a hermit. Don’t you understand?
YOU NEED TO HIRE ME.
Everyone: hands up as to who thinks this will work?