The Truth Will Set You Free. Maybe.

In a brazen move, beleaguered job seeker, 50-year-old Ernie Mills, ignored the advice of his Career Coach to “highlight your strengths in order to position yourself as a viable candidate” and wrote a truthful cover letter instead. Having applied to 194 positions over a six-month timeframe to no avail, Mills explained, “If employers had grown wise to my charade, I just didn’t see the point in pretending anymore.”

With a particularly strong lead, Mills began, “No longer harboring any hope of securing a mutually beneficial position that utilizes my ample skills and pays me accordingly, I’ve decided to settle for this uninteresting job if I can trick you into hiring me.” 

In a confessional purging rivaling that of a nun who’s been fucking the parish priest for months and is finally overcome by guilt, Mills shined truth’s bright beacon on his work ethic. “If you’re dumb enough to try to stuff me into this ill-fitting suit of a job, I promise to do the bare minimum to limp along during what I’m sure we’ll both come to hope is a short stay, all the while spending the bulk of my energy looking for the job I really wanted when I took this one in utter desperation.”

If the above comment left any room for speculation about his after hours availability, Mills slammed that door shut stating, “Hell no, I’m not staying late or coming in on Saturday. I’m barely fucking here when I’m here; I watch that clock with the hyper-awareness of a death row inmate frantically counting down his final minutes. It’s all I can do not to run some poor bastard over as I race out of the parking lot every day at five o’clock sharp.”

Dutifully responding to the job posting’s mandate that he include his salary requirement, Mills disclosed, “Let’s all be honest, I’m three months behind on my mortgage and the salary negotiation ship sailed long ago. Sure, I’d like a full day’s wage for a half day’s work, but I’ll take whatever this goddamn job pays.” 

“Look buddy,” he cordially continued as if he’d known the Hiring Manager all his life, “from my vantage point mired behind this pile of bills on the table, your inquiry about my five-year career goal is bullshit. I’m just trying to get the fuck out of here inside six months so I can fudge some dates and leave this shithole off my resume.

“You can also forget any bright ideas you might have about gently nudging me out when our little arrangement clearly isn’t working. There’s no way in hell I’m making it easy on you by quitting. I know the rules. If I don’t move on to greener pastures, I’ll choke down whatever shit sandwich you’re serving until you fire my ass so I qualify for unemployment. As for five years from now, if I’m not dead of a stress-induced heart attack, I hope to hell I’m retired and sucking off the government’s teat.” 

At press time, Mills was still firmly entrenched in a long and arduous search for gainful employment with no clear end in sight. When he called to schedule a follow-up appointment with his Career Coach, the answering service informed him the man had vacated his office under cover of night and was rumored to be “exploring options that would maximize his personal and professional growth.” 

Though he played a seemingly small role in Mills’ demise, these options apparently involved a cot and a hot plate in his mother’s basement. When asked to comment he offered, “Pimpin’ ain’t easy.”