An Open Letter to the Workplace
I am NOT overqualified
Dear Future Blood-Sucking Employer,
I’m fed up with writing for a living because, despite being told I could make $10,000 a month on Medium with a few weird tricks (and lose belly fat), things aren’t panning out. My second employer always pays late, and besides if I write another serial killer profile for that trashy tabloid I might as well hire on as a corrections officer down at the prison.
I still have some belly fat, too, although it almost disappears if I lie very flat and still in the bathtub, like a sleeping anaconda.
My curriculum vitae is impressive, but I am deeply average and in no way overqualified for this position that requires only a high school degree.
In the interview, I will tell you I have two master’s degrees, so you might be tempted to think I’m some kind of highly motivated Einstein. Also, my gpa was outstanding — just like my citizenship scores in second grade, straight Os.
Let me explain how graduate school works. If you have a pulse, raise your hand in class, and join the professor for cocktails— you’ll get straight As. If you happen to be blond, young, cute, etc. you’ll get a PhD. That’s how it works, sorry if I’m bursting your bubble.
Also, one of my degrees is in education and trust me, that’s what the kids go for when they can’t do math.
Sure, I’ve held jobs of considerable responsibility. But what you aren’t seeing are all the jobs I left out. You can click About Me, or read on for the TL;DR:
I sold overpriced vacuum cleaners, mucked-out stables, slung hash at greasy diners, and much to my great shame — raked in big bucks as a telemarketer.
I would’ve stripped for money but I can’t dance and have been plagued by mild to moderate cellulitis most of my life.
Maybe you can purloin my Social Security records to get a more complete picture, because I cannot remember half my jobs. If I were an overachiever, I could recall every job and list my salaries for you, so my indifference is more evidence I am not overqualified.
It wasn’t like I got fired, much. I mostly left out of boredom or despair. That’s why I’m applying for seasonal work with you.
What about the level of responsibility during my mini-careers as a high school teacher, Social Security bureaucrat, academic researcher, or freelance writer?
Let’s begin with teaching. Although it’s traumatic to recall the halcyon days of guiding our nation’s youth to recognize symbolism in Lord of the Flies, I I will do so for your sake. The basic requirements of the job were: (1) show up and (2) avoid cursing at the children. I was 99% successful! I showed up 100% of the time, and insulted only 1 out of 100 teenagers. Sorry, but Bradley Burnett pushed me over the edge and I asked him one day:
“Brad, are you stupid or something?”
He was in special ed, so this comment didn’t go over well. I apologized, and called his grandma (both his parents were incarcerated) that afternoon, and she said:
“Oh, don’t worry about it. Brad’s a giant pain in the ass.”
No doubt you are chomping at the bit for the scuttlebutt on Social Security Disability, where I read people’s medical records all day and stamped “yea” or “nay” on their file, but I assure you it was pretty ho-hum.
Again — this employer required consistent attendance and I hit that one out of the park. I had to read a lot, which I’m good at (see education history, above), and I bullshitted with doctors in the building. I pretended to have peer-to-peer relationships with oncologists and surgeons as we discussed spondylolisthesis and golf. Ultimately, I bonded with the psychologists because we were peers. They are a bunch of lunatics and I fit right in.
I left because I began to suspect I’d developed a case of Prader-Willi Syndrome.
At the university, I published epic research articles I’m sure you’ve heard of. That’s right, I authored, “Who Are Health Influencers?” and it’s been cited more than once. I was particularly proud of the title, which didn’t hit readers over the head with a lot of high-falutin’ academic jargon.
Which also proves I’m not overqualified: I don’t use $50 dollar words, even when it would be easier.
I stumbled off stage at that gig when my dreams of getting a PhD fizzled.
I don’t have a PhD, despite seven years in academia: more proof I’m not overqualified.
Finally, there’s my writing career. I’ve poured my heart and soul for three years into penning exquisite content for all manner of nincompoops. I have nearly 7,000 followers on Medium! Another writer once threatened to sue me!!
I can write SEO and poetry, but more importantly — I have neat handwriting and type 70 words a minute.
If you feel that typing speed is too swift, I can easily go down to 40 wpm.
If you’ll consider me for the job of a temporary, part-time tax preparer I will always print neatly inside the lines with a black pen. I will do basic math and forget all the trigonometry I learned.
I won’t compose limericks in my downtime. In fact, I won’t have downtime.
Unless you, paycheck God, want me to — that is, write limericks.
Look, how much of a loser do I have to be before you’ll hire me for your shitty job?
The author has a long history of underachievement and sarcasm. Follow her on Medium, or better yet sign up for her articles in your inbox. She writes humor, poetry, crime, and fitness articles — plus the occasional philosophical rant about the American workplace.