Since none of your well-intentioned resume tips seem to be helping, I'm at another temporary receptionist position for a couple of weeks. [unlike pam, i seem to dream of being a receptionist]
At this new job, I happen to be by the e-mail account receiving responses to two craigslist posts about jobs in another state. As I spent hours forwarding them on to the appropriate people, I have developed a few tips of my own. I claim no "definitely get job offers thrown at you in minutes!" secrets, but I am a pretty good at seeing faults. Here's my far from comprehensive list for your enjoyment/improvement.
THINGS YOU SHOULD DO IF YOU WANT YOUR RESUME DELETED:
-Send multiple e-mails with little bits of information added each time [examples: sentence fragments, your phone number, or "than you for considering myresume"]
-Have a 14-year-old email like "cutesybuttons_89@hotmail"
-Attach your cover letter and just put "cover letter attached, thanks" in the actual body of the e-mail instead of copy/pasting it
-Start every sentence with the word 'I'
-Talk about how you need this job so that you can relocate away from your horrible in-laws
-Make really illogical leaps, like "The fact that I used to be a Starbucks Barista and now work at a Server at Applebee's proves that I am a 'rising star' employee"
-Have cliche pseudo-religious "God is always ready to give us second chances" signatures at the end of your email
-Title your cover letter "generic cover letter," so the company knows they're special
-Mention your cat
-Put "craigslist post" in the subject line, and no information about the actual position you're applying for [the post id is equally as useless]
-Always only use run on sentences so that you can include lots of pointless information about your cat, ex husbands, etc for the company to use when they are trying to decide who to interview and eventually who to hire for the position that you didn't specify
-Misspell lots of words
-Copy/paste your cover letter so it loses formatting and all punctuation, and don't fix it
-Include a automatic return receipt request
-Hire someone who doesn't speak English to write your cover letter
-Mention that your ex husband ran a construction company, so you're qualified to run one
-Use smiley faces
-Be named Foxy Brown [i'm sorry your mother named you that, but you will never get hired any place where you might be given a business card. discrimination exists. deal with it]
-Write your cover letter in your native language, then translate it using google
-Use the word "unique" about yourself, your personality, your job skills, and your work ethic
-Misspell the job you're applying for
-Add a line like "And yes, I am old enough to know how to work a typewriter, ha ha"
-Use a formal cover letter template, then have your name written in pink scripty type
-Put any random line in your cover letter in ALL CAPS [preferably something like I LOOK FORWARD TO HEARING FROM YOU ABOUT THIS POSITION, so the potential employer can tell you are excited]
-Provide a link to your myspace page
to be continued...
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
seeing is changing...
Coming in late from an evening with friends, I was reminded how much sight influences our world. If we didn't see things change, would we even be aware of that they do?
I walked in to a house stilled by the late hour, the kitchen reminiscing the fresh tomatoes and pasta my sister cooked for Sunday supper. The drive home had been full of memory - things look different behind the wheel - familiar streets recalling youthful adventures with my Grandpa. Things looked different then. Signs and decor change, even for landmark restaurants.
As I microwaved leftovers which I didn't really need [late hours and slowing metabolisms consciously ignored], I heard my older sister's voice in the living room. She was combing our old dog. She asked my dad a simple question about Cricket's fur, her voice reflecting a child's quest for answers. She was sincere and his response was certain. Unable to see either of them from the kitchen table where I sat, I believed for a moment that I was 8 and she was 12 and our dad still knew everything about everything. [my dad = the original wikipedia]
Aside from the ocean, my summer was generally free of reflective surfaces. It was something I didn't really think about at the time. We did everything outside - from eating to sleeping to brushing teeth. It was camp, so appearance wasn't a high priority anyway. Except for a brief glance in an inconsequential mirror every morning I never really saw myself. I didn't realize that my hair turned blonde or that the eyes I looked out from fit into an older face than most of the kids on staff.
Sight changes everything. One must see something in the sense of noticing it, and also in the sense that we process and return new information. The world moves at different paces. Our dining room wall paper hasn't changed, but the people who sit around our table [with less and less frequency] have developed. Closing your eyes doesn't make any of it go away.
I walked in to a house stilled by the late hour, the kitchen reminiscing the fresh tomatoes and pasta my sister cooked for Sunday supper. The drive home had been full of memory - things look different behind the wheel - familiar streets recalling youthful adventures with my Grandpa. Things looked different then. Signs and decor change, even for landmark restaurants.
As I microwaved leftovers which I didn't really need [late hours and slowing metabolisms consciously ignored], I heard my older sister's voice in the living room. She was combing our old dog. She asked my dad a simple question about Cricket's fur, her voice reflecting a child's quest for answers. She was sincere and his response was certain. Unable to see either of them from the kitchen table where I sat, I believed for a moment that I was 8 and she was 12 and our dad still knew everything about everything. [my dad = the original wikipedia]
Aside from the ocean, my summer was generally free of reflective surfaces. It was something I didn't really think about at the time. We did everything outside - from eating to sleeping to brushing teeth. It was camp, so appearance wasn't a high priority anyway. Except for a brief glance in an inconsequential mirror every morning I never really saw myself. I didn't realize that my hair turned blonde or that the eyes I looked out from fit into an older face than most of the kids on staff.
Sight changes everything. One must see something in the sense of noticing it, and also in the sense that we process and return new information. The world moves at different paces. Our dining room wall paper hasn't changed, but the people who sit around our table [with less and less frequency] have developed. Closing your eyes doesn't make any of it go away.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
starbucks, the underdog...
I did something unthinkable this morning. Something I should be ashamed of. Something probably unAmerican.
I walked past my local independent coffee shop full of hip people and and went to Starbucks.
And I didn't feel bad. Actually, it might have been feeling bad that sent me there in the first place. See, this morning, I read another article about how Starbucks is closing stores, laying off people, and is down about 378 billion in profits for this quarter. [or something like that] While I doubt that Starbucks is actually going to implode in a cloud of burnt espresso vapor, it did make me reconsider where I spend my money. [never mind that my lactose intolerance has required a switch to pretty much the cheapest thing on the menu - a tall americano]
I don't want my neighborhood Starbucks to close.
Sure, I have only ever seen two cute guys hanging out there in all my years of lurking hopefully with an ipod and journal [see, i am an optimist]. Yeah, it's mostly middleaged sweaty people and cutesy moms with croc-ed/baby gapped toddlers. Of course I get really sick of the Jack Johnson/Feist songs blared just a little too loud. But the baristas are friendly and know regulars, just like at the indie cofee shop.
Why is it so American to hate whoever is on the top? This theory doesn't require proof anymore [see any hipster newspaper or novel by steinbeck or malamud], but it maybe still requires some thought. Why do I fervently hate the mediocre in a cup of coffee, yet settle for almost anything as far as relationships [with god, family, or otherwise]? Why do I look down on the green apron, yet fall for every band t-shirt that walks past? [actually, i think i'm starting to outgrow that. now i mostly fall for nice ties] Should I care more about non-genetically-modified food for myself or anything edible for starving kids around the world?
I think the fact that I even have time and energy to consider these questions reveals a lot about how easy I have it compared to most. So there's my secret: I don't mind Starbucks. Yeah, they're a big corporation: inefficent and impersonal on many levels.
Sometimes I want a great cup of coffee from the local indie cafe. But sometimes the free itunes track, pumpkin bread samples, and comfy chairs suit me fine.
Plus I'm out of cash and found an old Starbucks gift card lying around.
I walked past my local independent coffee shop full of hip people and and went to Starbucks.
And I didn't feel bad. Actually, it might have been feeling bad that sent me there in the first place. See, this morning, I read another article about how Starbucks is closing stores, laying off people, and is down about 378 billion in profits for this quarter. [or something like that] While I doubt that Starbucks is actually going to implode in a cloud of burnt espresso vapor, it did make me reconsider where I spend my money. [never mind that my lactose intolerance has required a switch to pretty much the cheapest thing on the menu - a tall americano]
I don't want my neighborhood Starbucks to close.
Sure, I have only ever seen two cute guys hanging out there in all my years of lurking hopefully with an ipod and journal [see, i am an optimist]. Yeah, it's mostly middleaged sweaty people and cutesy moms with croc-ed/baby gapped toddlers. Of course I get really sick of the Jack Johnson/Feist songs blared just a little too loud. But the baristas are friendly and know regulars, just like at the indie cofee shop.
Why is it so American to hate whoever is on the top? This theory doesn't require proof anymore [see any hipster newspaper or novel by steinbeck or malamud], but it maybe still requires some thought. Why do I fervently hate the mediocre in a cup of coffee, yet settle for almost anything as far as relationships [with god, family, or otherwise]? Why do I look down on the green apron, yet fall for every band t-shirt that walks past? [actually, i think i'm starting to outgrow that. now i mostly fall for nice ties] Should I care more about non-genetically-modified food for myself or anything edible for starving kids around the world?
I think the fact that I even have time and energy to consider these questions reveals a lot about how easy I have it compared to most. So there's my secret: I don't mind Starbucks. Yeah, they're a big corporation: inefficent and impersonal on many levels.
Sometimes I want a great cup of coffee from the local indie cafe. But sometimes the free itunes track, pumpkin bread samples, and comfy chairs suit me fine.
Plus I'm out of cash and found an old Starbucks gift card lying around.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
water...
Since I'm sure I've exhausted every job ad on monster and craigslist this morning, before I turn to my Agatha Christie hour at my local independence coffee shop, I thought I'd pass on some words of wisdom.
Ashamedly, I was unaware of David Foster Wallace before his death on Friday. But after a little research [handed to me on a golden-linked platter] I have resolved to put aside ignorance and every sin that so easily entangles.
I, too, wonder how someone who writes this could do that. But that's probably the wrong question. What am I going to do today to see the water, to get out of my self-pitying unemployed head, to serve others, and just maybe, do something that helps someone else see the importance of everything around us.
I'm not sure how long that article will be up, but I hope you all pause for a moment in your information overloaded lives and read.
Ashamedly, I was unaware of David Foster Wallace before his death on Friday. But after a little research [handed to me on a golden-linked platter] I have resolved to put aside ignorance and every sin that so easily entangles.
I, too, wonder how someone who writes this could do that. But that's probably the wrong question. What am I going to do today to see the water, to get out of my self-pitying unemployed head, to serve others, and just maybe, do something that helps someone else see the importance of everything around us.
I'm not sure how long that article will be up, but I hope you all pause for a moment in your information overloaded lives and read.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
dear fall...
who are you,little i
(five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling:that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)
[e.e. cummings]
In the middle of last week, [a few days early] it changed from summer to fall. I am cold all the time. Cummings helps. A fire would be more helpful.
(five or six years old)
peering from some high
window;at the gold
of november sunset
(and feeling:that if day
has to become night
this is a beautiful way)
[e.e. cummings]
In the middle of last week, [a few days early] it changed from summer to fall. I am cold all the time. Cummings helps. A fire would be more helpful.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
read, past tense...
Somehow it's easier to clean up computer files than my clothes, which are now scattered in two houses, three different bedrooms, various basement boxes, and my still packed from the summer suitcase. I just found a blog post detailing my summer reading list, and figured it's about time to post it. [at least then i'll feel like i accomplished something today]
Here's my list, which, hopefully, proves that College is only the beginning of Education.
What I've Read Since Graduation [along with snippets of others that i can't actually claim]:
Exiles [ron hansen]
Memoir from Antproof Case [mark helprin]
The Violent Bear it Away [flannery o'connor]
The Beet Queen [louise erdrich]
Twenty-One Stories [graham greene]
The Reason for God [tim keller]
A Handful of Dust [evelyn waugh]
When God Doesn't Answer Your Prayers [jerry sitser]
The Sun Also Rises [ernest hemingway]
The Pursuit of Holiness [aw tozer]
The Silver Chair [cs lewis]
What Jesus Demands from the World [john piper]
Our Man in Havana [graham greene]
The Promise [chaim potok]
Here's my list, which, hopefully, proves that College is only the beginning of Education.
What I've Read Since Graduation [along with snippets of others that i can't actually claim]:
Exiles [ron hansen]
Memoir from Antproof Case [mark helprin]
The Violent Bear it Away [flannery o'connor]
The Beet Queen [louise erdrich]
Twenty-One Stories [graham greene]
The Reason for God [tim keller]
A Handful of Dust [evelyn waugh]
When God Doesn't Answer Your Prayers [jerry sitser]
The Sun Also Rises [ernest hemingway]
The Pursuit of Holiness [aw tozer]
The Silver Chair [cs lewis]
What Jesus Demands from the World [john piper]
Our Man in Havana [graham greene]
The Promise [chaim potok]
methods...
For the first time in my traveling life, [eight plus years] I have no trips planned. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. In one place. The city where I was born. In a house where I lived all my life.
And yet, I'm getting ready to leave in a different way than any of my travels. I'm moving out on my own. Moving is totally different from moving out. But I think I'll be fine.
This attachment is nearly detached. The beauty of it all is that, while it's a last necessary snap of the thread, it's been coming for so long that I'm prepared. All of my travels have helped the coming home be so much more meaningful. And as I continue on a parallel [but no longer the same] path with those I love the most, I've been thinking a lot about journeys.
I traveled in so many ways this summer: by plane, train, car, boat, bus, subway, and sidewalk.
And yet, I'm getting ready to leave in a different way than any of my travels. I'm moving out on my own. Moving is totally different from moving out. But I think I'll be fine.
This attachment is nearly detached. The beauty of it all is that, while it's a last necessary snap of the thread, it's been coming for so long that I'm prepared. All of my travels have helped the coming home be so much more meaningful. And as I continue on a parallel [but no longer the same] path with those I love the most, I've been thinking a lot about journeys.
I traveled in so many ways this summer: by plane, train, car, boat, bus, subway, and sidewalk.
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