RE: Application for Full-Time Skydiving Instructor Position

Dear Mr. Ravity,

By now you’ve had a good look at my resume; and you’ve likely come to two conclusions. Firstly, that my qualifications and experience in the air are undoubtedly well-suited to the role you’re looking to fill. Secondly, that my recent medical history might leave a little to be desir–

Ah, fuck it. Let’s just be straight with each other: I pass out a lot.

Look, I get it. Unfortunately for me, recurrent syncope seems to be for skydivers what being put on a sex offenders register is for almost every other job: at worst an insurmountable roadblock, at best a very serious whoopsie. I’m sure you took one fleeting look at my information before reaching for that red rubber stamp or sticking me in the tall pile or whatever platitude indicates rejection (skydiving school was quite literally my only education); but if you stop and think about it, you’ll find that, if anything, my tendency to randomly conk out should make you more inclined to hire me.

Why?

Well, when was the last time your diving school went a single week without having to use an emergency shoot because someone packed their mains lazily? When did you last go a full month without a jump pilot forgetting to refill the passenger-side oxygen tanks? You see, these are the sorts of details that people like me can’t afford to get wrong—if only because the stress of being told off by management would undoubtedly trigger one of my “forced naps.”

More than this, however, the experience of being diagnosed with a serious condition has turned me into a natural leader. If hired, I will not hesitate to provide guidance and support to the rest of your team. I’ll show up early, I’ll clock off late, and I’ll be ever-present and available to keep some of the younger folks from developing poor industry habits, such as growing plane engine-enticing mullets, or performing ironic renditions of “Free Fallin’’ (or “Pettying” as it is otherwise known). In this, I hope you’ll see that my condition allows me to not only perform the standard duties that would be expected of me in this role, but to also go the extra mile in performing additional jobs—so long as they don’t involve hard sprinting, heavy lifting, yodeling, driving, crunches, visual identification of any actor involved in the production of 1997 film Boogie Nights, muskrats or proximity to frozen yogurt.

But none of this addresses your chief concern, does it? Don’t worry, I know what you’re thinking: “God forbid, what if he passes out during a jump with a member of the public?”

Listen, you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about. There doesn’t seem to be a single thing about being in the air with someone that prompts one of my hard restarts, and only twice on my own have I ever zonked out completely. The first time I came to with hundreds of metres of wiggle room before I had to pull my chute. Admittedly, that second one was a bit hairier but you know what? The County Pillow Fete actually rolls around a lot more often than you think; so there’s some soft, feathery insurance for you.

At the end of the day, sir, we’re all in this business because we aren’t cut out for a desk job. People like you and I, we’ve been known to take a risk or two. Hell, we’ve made careers out of seeking that next adrenaline hit. That’s why, if you were to look past me for the advertised role, you wouldn’t just be ending my time as a skydiver, would you? If you take the safe option now and hire some 22-year-old academy graduate with perfect leg joints and a sorry lack of splotchy windburnt skin, you’d also be ending your own. Just something to think about.

Yours in falling to the ground real fast,

Patrick D. Scent

P.S. Luis Guzmán is usually exempt from that Boogie Nights thing but please, please don’t ask me why.


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