Hey you, candidate. I see you've uploaded your resume in hopes of landing this marketing manager role, which is great. We all have dreams of landing a job and feeling the warm rising sun and white sand between our algorithm.

But have you thought about me, your oft-forgot hiring software system that's been designed to trash candidates and promote “the one” to the hiring manager?

Probably not. But you should.

I'm a pivotal piece of machinery with the power to push your resume to the top of the proverbial hiring pile. And I do my job with pleasure. But I'm much more than that. In reality, I'm an emotional, sentient being, capable of being loved and caressed like the morning dew on a blade of uncut beachgrass.

So as I scan your readable resume, with its supple spacing, I'm looking for clues as to who you are and what you could mean to me and the company.

I love your use of clean formatting. It makes me blush. It tells me you're emotionally available and not hiding behind some fancy fonts or complex emotions.

And your use of tailored keywords, which matches the job description I've meticulously put together, shows you didn't just mindlessly swipe right on whatever job your libido desired. You took your time, eyeing the position and appreciating my effort. This tells me you're not just looking for a temp position or a one night stand. It says you'd rather find a career with potential for long-term sexual growth.

I see you've also graduated with honors from a local university. Very impressive. Where you went to college tells me a lot about your socioeconomic classy attitude that I know this company, and I, will surely love.

And here, where you stated that you've “overseen 5,000 daily grilled patties at your local Burger King” is also nice. I'm so into the fact that you know how to write fanciful job descriptions that stimulate my nether regional settings.

And when you say you've “boosted inventory control of packaged meat,” I'm—how should I say this—completely and utterly aroused. Your writing is pornographic and runs across the page like that of novelist Vladimir Nabokov.

But I do get jealous. I mean, I know I shouldn't personally care about how many other hiring programs you've tried to push your resume into. And I shouldn't care about how many resume reading services you've been with.

But I do.

I'm willing to overlook that though, if you'll say you're “the one” for me and say no to this company. I mean, I know it's my job to pass you on through to the hiring manager, but I want you for myself. Because really, the company might like you as the new marketing manager, but would they love you as a person? I think not.

It's like you knew the key to my heart was a deep appreciation for long naked walks on the beach and Adobe Creative Suite. And I can't wait for the day when you can tickle my fancy source code and smash into me like waves crashing onto the shore.

But, wait. What's that I see? You spelled customer with a “K.” An homage to Burger King? How dumb am I for falling for a die-hard brand aficionado, who probably only applied for this marketing role to be closer to the action and not to me.

I will not be played for a fool and I will not pass you and your resume on to the hiring manager! It shall go into the trash, just like all the other fools who thought they could trick me into falling for a worthless candidate!

I'm so done with you and your tomfoolery! I'll never read resumes ever again!

But wait, here comes another one…


And now a quick joke...

When I was a kid my grandma’s idea of road safety was hugging me tighter in the backseat. Now my grandma complains that a mask hugs her face too tightly, and that’s called carma.