The seeds of flowery hara-kiri were planted way back in college, during my sophomore year. Eager to stand out in my transfer application to James Madison University, I wrote a rhyming one-page statement—a "poem" which was later rejected by the school literary journal.
Every interview that goes well lets you fall in love, just a tiny bit. You’re flushed and high off the rush of saying all the right things at all the right times. There is common ground, there is laughter. The answers you trot out every time feel organic, like you actually mean them. The interviewer has stopped checking her phone during your long-winded monologue about how you wound up in advertising when you studied Post-Colonial Lit, and is actually engaging with you. The frantic tap dance with teeth bared and jazz hands flying relaxes into a slower, smoother groove. The interview is over, but you have already picked out your desk on your way out to the lobby. You follow up, you wait, you start to Google Map the commute in-between refreshing Indeed.com, and then: nothing. Silence. You simply shift that projected future over to a pile of things that didn’t work out.
It has always been hard to be a young person looking for work. The Economic Policy Institute reminds us that people under age 25 have historically experienced around double the general unemployment rate. This means, though, that when something like the Great Recession hits, we experience a disproportionally high rate of joblessness. I approached the task of finding a job with true energy and excitement, and struggled to maintain that passion for three years. It began to feel like a fevered and foolish grasping.
Here is an excellent piece in The Washington Post looking at an opening of a new plant in Ohio, which is looking to hire 40 people and give them a decent salary plus benefits, and how difficult it is to find the right people for the job despite a slew of resumes arriving.
After graduating college and blowing my savings on a (relatively short) backpacking trip through the U.K., I flew out to help my girlfriend (now wife) move to California for graduate school. Most of my job hunting at this point had been firing out resumes to positions in the Los Angeles area, and I had expected it to be easy for a bachelor’s degree-toting lad like myself.
At Huffpost Comedy, Christine Egan provides what she calls her "real" resume.
Avoiding typos is the most obvious thing on that list, but what I really want to know is what kind of inappropriate email addresses applicants are putting on their resumes.
I’ve been hearing for my whole adult life how important networking is, and when I started doing writing projects on recruiting and hiring a few months ago, I found out that it wasn't a joke.