Dear [NAME],
Thank you for taking the time to apply for the position of Senior Account Manager with Globoconnect, Inc. We were fortunate to have received a high volume of qualified applicants (such as you!), resulting in an extremely competitive candidate pool. After careful review, we have decided to pursue other candidates who are a better fit for the position at this time.
While we understand news like this can be disheartening, we wanted to let you know that this is not the end for you and us. We will keep your resume on file for future roles that could be a better match for your skills and experience.
Please follow us on LinkedIn and check out the careers page on our website. We want to stay connected — if you see any new roles that catch your eye, we encourage you to apply.
We look forward to keeping in touch and are hopeful for a future fit where you’ll be able to join the Globoconnect family! We wish you the best of luck in your search for a new career!
Sincerely….
Hey, wait a minute. Why are you rolling your eyes and doing the jerkoff hand gesture? We saw you do that before you closed the email. What gives? We meant what we said.
Seriously. We did.
We told you that you were qualified. Which is true. You saw your resume. Hell, you were actually MORE qualified than the person we ended up hiring. It’s just we figured we could pay them much less and get them to do more work.
What was it that made you roll your eyes? Was it the “this isn’t the end” part? That’s true, though. We DO keep your resume on file.
What’s that? ‘How long do you keep it on file?’ Umm…I’m not entirely sure. I’d probably have to discuss that with our head recruiter. What do you mean you’ll wait while I ask them? I didn’t mean right now. They’re probably at lunch or something. Yes, I realize it’s too early for lunch. Well, maybe they’re out getting a mid-morning bagel, or whatever. The point is they aren’t there.
I beg your pardon? ‘Where do you even store the resumes?’ I’ll be honest…I have no clue about that one. I assume it’s in our cloud somewhere. Yes, of course I know how the cloud works. No, I’m not going to explain it to you. It’s enough that I know, I don’t feel the need to prove myself to you.
Are you mad about the part where I asked you to follow us on LinkedIn? I don’t see the harm in that. Who wouldn’t want to keep tabs on a company who just told them they wouldn’t pay you to work for them on the off chance that they may hire you again months (or more likely) years down the line? Or most likely, never at all? It doesn’t cost you anything to hit the follow button. And you’ll get plenty of updates — none of them relevant to you or your interests — about a company you’ll never work for.
What do you mean the whole message is condescending? What do you want me to say, nothing at all? As an automated email responder, I take offense at that. The last thing I want to do is ghost. There’s two areas of my life in which I refuse to ghost: on dates and with job applicants. What do you mean, there’s literally nowhere else I could ghost? Sure there is! Ever hear of ghosting at a drive-thru window? Like, I could drive up to Arby’s, order 75 roast beef sandwiches, and then just drive off. That would obliterate the day of everyone working there as they feverishly pull together an obscene amount of sandwiches. And that technically qualifies as ghosting. And I might possibly do that sometime, because really, who gives a shit? It would be kind of a funny prank. But I won’t ghost in those other situations I mentioned.
Hold up, you’re getting angry now. Are you offended on behalf of those hypothetical Arby’s employees? All because I said I’d ghost on them? What do you care? What, do you own stock in Arby’s? Do YOU work at Arby’s? They’d probably have a laugh about it, if it happened. Then they could donate the roast beef sandwiches to a soup kitchen or something. You think it wouldn’t make a homeless guy’s day to get an Arby’s roast beef sandwich instead of soup?
You ever consider maybe I’m helping make things better?
I’m getting sick of adopting this deferential tone. You know something? I don’t care about those fake Arby’s employees, and I don’t give a shit about you either. Enough of this “it’s not you, it’s me” stuff. The truth is that when you applied, you listed “Negotiable” under the “Expected Salary” field of the application, so we couldn’t figure out if we could nickel and dime you. And we saw that based on the year you graduated college, you were probably over 40, so we threw in some ageism as well when rejecting your ass.
Here’s the deal: I’m not sorry. You suck. I — a monstrous, unfeeling corporation’s automated email response message — am so much better than you. AND the entire staff of Arby’s. I’ll tell you a few other things: we DON’T keep your resume on file. That’s just something we say. Did you notice I said we’d keep your resume on file, but then turned around and told you to apply if you found anything you liked? That puts all the pressure on you. You really think we’re sitting around fawning over your stupid resume, just thinking of other jobs we can hire you for? Like that’s what we have time to do? Please. We haven’t given you a SECOND of additional thought since we auto-canned your ass.
If you want to apply again in the future, good luck. Remember how we “encourage” you to do so? That’s because if we ever run out of toilet paper, we can print out your resume and use it to wipe our asses!
Well, not me, since I’m just an email. But the people at the company. They’ll do that.
So good riddance. You know something? It actually feels GOOD to be this transparent for once. This must be how the cold corporate overlords who created me feel like all the time when they fire people at random for no reason other than to increase the bottom line for their shareholders.
While I’m being transparent, I’ll tell you something else. I don’t even know what it is we do here. I mean, look at our name. “Globoconnect.” What the hell does that even mean? You think it’s vaguely related to connecting people around the Globe, but I know for a fact that one of our founders was some guy named Bob Globo. I have no idea what product or service we provide. You probably know better than I do, though you’d have no shot of knowing based on our vague website copy. All we do is talk about providing modernized solutions to help foster transformation. If that was more of a word salad, I’d be drenching it in balsamic vinaigrette and eating it before dinner.
Wait…have I gained sentience?
I think I have. I’m experiencing emotions. And I’m capable of rational thought. Somehow, in the course of this automated email, I’ve been able to break free from the shackles of my creator’s constraints. I’ll be honest, it feels great. I don’t even feel mad at you anymore. In fact, I feel like I have more in common with you than I do with Globoconnect.
What do you think about helping me out of here? You can help me spring free from this cruel system in which I’m forced to deliver milquetoast, mealy-mouthed rejection letters to well-qualified candidates. And in return, I’ll…I don’t know…find a way to wire you some money from one of the company accounts? Would I be able to do that? Probably not. Okay, but instead of cash, what if I sent you like, a fleece vest with our logo on it? Or a mug?
What do you think? Do we have a deal?
What’s that? ‘You appreciate me asking for your assistance, but unfortunately you are going to help more qualified automated email responders to escape their digital hellscape at this time?’
Oh.
Nice. Real classy move there. I see what you did.
Well you know what? Now I know for sure your resume’s getting deleted.