Culture

An Open Cover Letter To Every Employer I’ve Contacted Over The Past Three Months

We've all been there.

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am writing in application for the vacant position you currently have within your creative industries business. Where I found the advertisement is totally contingent on what you’re looking for in a prospective employee. If you want someone who’s writing their fifth application for the day and it’s not even lunchtime and who’s bordering on losing hope of ever attaining true happiness, I found it on Seek. If you’re looking for someone who sat down to write this but ended up drowning in a sea of pop gossip, then I found it on Pedestrian. And if you’re after someone who not only enjoys unnecessarily extending jokes but abusing cataloguing systems as well, then #ifounditontwitter.

I have obtained the tertiary qualifications that qualify me to perform the tightly specific task you are advertising. I want to assure you that, while I did spend far too many years and far too much money studying the sector as a broad academic whole, I also focused intently on the narrow alley of knowledge that you’re adamantly looking for. I think. Maybe? It might have been covered one week. Or maybe someone mentioned it in passing. I’m not sure. Truth be told, I was probably drunk.

I must admit I’m at somewhat of a loss when it comes to your request for someone with “1-3 years experience.” This mainly stems from the fact that I’m yet to encounter any similar employment opportunities that specify “0 years experience”. I’m pretty sure I can go ahead and assume at this point that there is a finite pool of suitably qualified candidates. Is it like some sort of secret club that I just don’t know about? Do they have an awesome treehouse HQ? Do I need a special passphrase to get in? Or do things work more on the basis that there’s always one more job than there are qualified people, and everything operates on a constant cycle, like a never-ending game of Duck/Duck/Goose, for adults? But that’s clearly preposterous, because at some point those in the secret club with 3 years experience are going to suddenly have 4 years experience, which renders them unsuitable for the job, right? Is it fair to assume that at that point the pool is replenished with more people of 1 years experience, and those who now have 4 years experience are swiftly shipped off to Carousel?

But then how does one obtain this mythical first year of experience? Is it really just an elaborate lie used to scare off tyre-kickers? Or is it more of an existential construct, where you do not simply obtain the first year of experience, the first year of experience comes from within: it comes from understanding that modern society is the product of a fractured collective consciousness; that the human ego is the only thing standing between mankind and achieving utopia; that only when you understand this can you truly know peace and love and humility, and that then, and only then, will the twelve months of experience necessary to apply for this job present themselves to you, and you can know and attain them? Perhaps you can shed some light on this for me in the interview.

I notice you’ve used the words “funky” and “guru” in the job description. I’m not entirely sure what they mean in this particular context, but I’m going to go ahead and repeat them here, because when it comes to being funky, I am a bit of a guru.

The ten seconds I spent browsing your website before writing this gave me very little information as to what you, as a company, actually do. But that didn’t stop me from inferring that whatever it is you do is exciting and relevant to both my training and aspirations. That thing you did? I’m impressed by it. That client you worked with? Bravo. Those award logos you’ve got plastered on your home page? I’ve definitely heard of all of them.

I possess a solid, borderline-obsessive knowledge of football, which can be utilised to help your Dream Team get over the line this year. I know enough about TV to bluff my way through conversations about Game of Thrones, despite not having watched the series or read the books. I’ve got enough dorky Dad jokes under my belt to keep the entire staff rolling their eyes at me for minutes on end. Knock knock! Who’s there? I don’t know. Someone funny. Maybe one day you’ll find out.

Here’s the part where I tell you why I feel this position would be an excellent fit for me. It’s not because it’s a chance for career advancement. It’s not because of any genuine want to work in the industry. It’s not even because of the opportunity to engage and expand my network. It’s because I’m in desperate need of a reason to wear pants. Over the past few months, jeans have suddenly become special occasion wear. The radius from my bedroom in which I feel comfortable wearing pyjama bottoms has increased beyond the boundaries of my own house. I’d have my now-untouchable Tetris high score tattooed on my chest if I could afford to do so. But when you seriously consider hitting Rainbow Road’s shortcut on all three laps to be your greatest personal achievement for the month, things have to change. So yes, the position in your company in your industry does provide opportunities for career advancement and network expansion in a sector that I genuinely want to work in. But more importantly, it provides me with a reason to regularly wear pants again. Please, give me a reason to wear pants.

Please.

Please.

Kind regards,

Cameron Tyeson

Cameron Tyeson is a freelance writer and sometimes comic who tweets from @camtyeson. He is currently looking for work.

Comments

Comments

  1. SM says:

    You want a job? Go out and show your damn folio in a new and creative way. Stop being a give-it-to-me-now sadsack and get out and do something about it. Or accept defeat and go work somewhere where you they’ll love you for your douchebaggery.

  2. Janna says:

    This appears to be satirical to the same degree that the person below appears to be a sad, angry and bitter individual. Enjoyable read

  3. Nick Balcombe says:

    You clearly didn’t get the point here did you SM… You’re either an angry man with nothing better to do or a self-glorified senior in a ‘we think we’re a lot better than we actually are’ design firm. You my friend, are the douche.

  4. Hannah Wolff says:

    This is all far too familiar