Idly curious about this one. What possess people to blindly apply to job openings, with little – often, it seems, no – relevance to what they do and/ or want to do?

Does something make them think this is a good decision? “Ahh, I know. I’ll actively try and get a job I’ll hate, and/ or be unqualified for, so I can stand around ironically dropping quotes from Office Space in reference to how much my job sucks.” I mean, props for wanting to actively live out an Ironic lifestyle – the Surrealists had nothing on you. Have you thought about getting around to publishing your Ironic Manifesto, or does its apparent lack of existence tie into its overall meaning? Perhaps there’s a hidden message you’re trying to convey, when you apply for a job titled Business Analyst, and include a cover letter that says:


I am pursuing Master’s in Electrical Engineering with specialization in signal processing and communications. I am currently working on research and development of digital signal processing (Image and Audio) algorithms for biosensors and implementing them on Android platform to develop innovative heath applications. I have worked at Alcatel-Lucent Technologies as a Software Engineer for 2 years. Currently, I am seeking for a full-time position in the field of signal processing and Communications, as I would be graduating in May 2012.


On second thought…. oh, I get it. You’re an Absurdist! Come to inflict your humor-infused Nihilism on the rest of us. That clears a lot of things up. Mr. Godot will be with you shortly.

Or, with a “Wham, bam! Thank you, Sam!” you can exit the stage, pursued by a bear, a storm, or perhaps a jibbler.

Pretend like all of this is real – that it has consequences, and that well thought out actions can have consequences that are beneficial. That a happy life is somehow possible.

Here’s… well, here’s the thing I’m thinking (and, have thought before – likely will again): apply for _specific_ jobs. Pick your target. Aim at it. Fire. The idea that you’re going to both get a job, and then have that job be one you actually enjoy (this preventing said Ironic Life) by spamming out resumes is the equivalent of going into a biker bar wearing  a t-shirt that says FBI, after taking half a box of No-Doze, putting on a blindfold, and then standing up and yelling “I’m the baddest mother in this room – which one of you pansies wants to die first?!” and expecting to walk out the winner. Or even, alive

I know, I know – what’s the fun in living a life bereft of risk, and her Siames twin consequence? Still. Maybe you should save that stuff for Big Mickey’s Brew & Brawl, on the weekends, and tell Godot that _he_ can stay on hold.