What were they thinking?
HS
923 Posts
[b](Lengthy but funny!}
I just got an e-mail from someone applying for a job. I kid you not, other than a cover note in the e-mail, this is word for word the document I was sent as an attachment (with the exception of the swear word I disguised). Did they just put another document instead of the resume? [/b]
Note To Self
“May I join you?” Him
"Who the h*ll" - Me
“Um, sure” Me, surveying the entire Abbey, while calculating chair availability. 87
“Thanks, I’m Paul” He offered, all cheery, smiles.
“I’m Hugh” Me, warmed over pudding crust.
“Yes, I know” He, of either secrets or solid memory.
“Oh we met?” Me, oh no, we’ve met! It is never a good thing for me to run into someone who knows my name and I not theirs. It feels like, oh we broke up, and Hugh still has my Hootie and The Blowfish CD.
“No, we haven’t met, but I see you here all the time.” Not quite explaining. Despite the fact that I am at the Abbey more than most of the staff, still leaves me concerned that my anonymity has been blown. This isn’t the Hair Show at Staples, people aren’t supposed to know me.
“Pablo told me, I hope you don’t mind.” Him, fearful of stalker laws?
“I don’t mind, it makes me feel like Norm on Cheers.” I thought perhaps that I had interviewed with him; sent a resume. I’ve sent out more paper than Jay-Z.
“You people watch.” Him, so matter of factly.
“I do? I guess I don’t realize I do it” Realizing that I do it.
“I like the way you look at me.” Again, matter of factly.
“Um.” Me, busted and embarrassed. People watching is my business, but I wasn’t prepared for this Initial Public Offering.
“Don’t get embarrassed, remember, I have been watching you here. You like to get here sorta early. You have that bright red truck. Oh, and you are a careful parker, always far away. Cracks me up.”
“Damn.” Being the articulate lad that I am.
“Oh, I’m the same way. Sometimes I circle the block for the right space. I’m compulsive”
I think that makes me compulsive as well, but that’s not surprising information. Surprising information would be if I circle the block to find good parking at Big 5 Sporting Goods.
“Should I go on” He asks, with a crooked little smile. I didn’t think those existed in the real world, or outside of “The Real World.”
“You like to read, especially magazines. You actually ask people at adjoining tables if they would like them when you’re done. I think that’s so nice.”
For some reason, I wasn’t creeped out by this. His voice was kind of raspy, and he was enjoying himself.
“Please, go on.” Me, unsure if he should go on.
“You like cars and home décor. Oh, those are the magazines you leave on the table if no one wants them. Although I have you seen give design magazines to one of the guys here. That’s it, that’s all I got.” Again, crooked smile, showing a bit of pride.
“I don’t know what to say.” Me, unsure that’s all he’s got.
“Well, tell me why you are here all the time. What do you do?”
I feel my body jerk a little. In a town that so often judges based on job title, I don’t have an answer. There is no career, I have no industry. I have no job description.
“I’m sorry, “ him, touching his hand to mine, almost reflexively, then pulled it away, after he realized he’d touched my skin. “that was rude. None of my business.”
“I don’t know how to answer that one anymore. I was laid off from my job a while back, and it left a bruise.” Me, not expecting to have “a reaction” to a question from a nice man with a strong chin, with slight cleft.
Realizing I was looking down, at the table, I looked up again at him, his grey eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. His expression was intense, but warm.
“A job is not who you are.” His hand returned to mine.
“I, “ Me, with a quip-free stutter. “I don’t know who I am” Saying out loud was like exhaling, deeply.
“It seems to me that there are now 2 people who should find out who you are.” I feel his hand surround my own.
“Go out with me Hugh…”
I just got an e-mail from someone applying for a job. I kid you not, other than a cover note in the e-mail, this is word for word the document I was sent as an attachment (with the exception of the swear word I disguised). Did they just put another document instead of the resume? [/b]
Note To Self
“May I join you?” Him
"Who the h*ll" - Me
“Um, sure” Me, surveying the entire Abbey, while calculating chair availability. 87
“Thanks, I’m Paul” He offered, all cheery, smiles.
“I’m Hugh” Me, warmed over pudding crust.
“Yes, I know” He, of either secrets or solid memory.
“Oh we met?” Me, oh no, we’ve met! It is never a good thing for me to run into someone who knows my name and I not theirs. It feels like, oh we broke up, and Hugh still has my Hootie and The Blowfish CD.
“No, we haven’t met, but I see you here all the time.” Not quite explaining. Despite the fact that I am at the Abbey more than most of the staff, still leaves me concerned that my anonymity has been blown. This isn’t the Hair Show at Staples, people aren’t supposed to know me.
“Pablo told me, I hope you don’t mind.” Him, fearful of stalker laws?
“I don’t mind, it makes me feel like Norm on Cheers.” I thought perhaps that I had interviewed with him; sent a resume. I’ve sent out more paper than Jay-Z.
“You people watch.” Him, so matter of factly.
“I do? I guess I don’t realize I do it” Realizing that I do it.
“I like the way you look at me.” Again, matter of factly.
“Um.” Me, busted and embarrassed. People watching is my business, but I wasn’t prepared for this Initial Public Offering.
“Don’t get embarrassed, remember, I have been watching you here. You like to get here sorta early. You have that bright red truck. Oh, and you are a careful parker, always far away. Cracks me up.”
“Damn.” Being the articulate lad that I am.
“Oh, I’m the same way. Sometimes I circle the block for the right space. I’m compulsive”
I think that makes me compulsive as well, but that’s not surprising information. Surprising information would be if I circle the block to find good parking at Big 5 Sporting Goods.
“Should I go on” He asks, with a crooked little smile. I didn’t think those existed in the real world, or outside of “The Real World.”
“You like to read, especially magazines. You actually ask people at adjoining tables if they would like them when you’re done. I think that’s so nice.”
For some reason, I wasn’t creeped out by this. His voice was kind of raspy, and he was enjoying himself.
“Please, go on.” Me, unsure if he should go on.
“You like cars and home décor. Oh, those are the magazines you leave on the table if no one wants them. Although I have you seen give design magazines to one of the guys here. That’s it, that’s all I got.” Again, crooked smile, showing a bit of pride.
“I don’t know what to say.” Me, unsure that’s all he’s got.
“Well, tell me why you are here all the time. What do you do?”
I feel my body jerk a little. In a town that so often judges based on job title, I don’t have an answer. There is no career, I have no industry. I have no job description.
“I’m sorry, “ him, touching his hand to mine, almost reflexively, then pulled it away, after he realized he’d touched my skin. “that was rude. None of my business.”
“I don’t know how to answer that one anymore. I was laid off from my job a while back, and it left a bruise.” Me, not expecting to have “a reaction” to a question from a nice man with a strong chin, with slight cleft.
Realizing I was looking down, at the table, I looked up again at him, his grey eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. His expression was intense, but warm.
“A job is not who you are.” His hand returned to mine.
“I, “ Me, with a quip-free stutter. “I don’t know who I am” Saying out loud was like exhaling, deeply.
“It seems to me that there are now 2 people who should find out who you are.” I feel his hand surround my own.
“Go out with me Hugh…”
Comments
Cinderella
If you want to be a real stinker, reply to the email and ask them what you are to make of the "resume" they attached.
I agree with ritaanz - and we get to see the reply - if he dares!
I think I will and just say, "I'm sorry, I don't believe your resume came through, please resend", making sure that the original attachement get's forwarded. x}>
Wrong attachment from a budding young writer trying to capture a first romantic meeting - or being coaxed out of the closet?