Dear White Applicant,

Thank you for your interest in our recent Part-Time Very Part-Time Professor position at Loggins & Messina University.

Unfortunately, we have decided to move forward with another candidate.

Sincerely,

Knox “Ham” Hamilton (“Knox”)
Committee Chair
White Person (Guy) (Male) (He / Him)

P.S. Dude. How dare you try pull the same white-privilege scheme we used years ago to land our jobs and create a fully white, fully male department?

Nice try, bro. We’re not going for it.

Who do you think you are? Us, ten years ago?

Get real.

True, you’re more accomplished, less arrogant, and better educated than we are . . . and that’s what disgusts us the most!

Or no, no: It’s the white privilege. And you have the gall to try to use it on us? in a formal application process? Fuck you.

And we stand by that: Fuck you.

You again? Gross. We can barely look at you. We need faces of other races in this small, all-white committee room. Am I right, boys? And you’re not helping.

Yes, okay. When they hired us, things were different. They were opening the door to privileged white men pretty much willy-nilly.

Did we deserve the job?

No—no, we didn’t.

But would we get hired today?

Ha! No.

Take me, for example: “Ham.” (“Knox.”) I mean, when I got hired here, I hadn’t published a thing (please don’t point out that I still haven’t in my 16 years), and my teaching experience was, let’s say, impressively exaggerated.

But—not to brag or anything—I was white. In the interview I came out swinging with my best anecdote about the Don Henley concert. Have you heard that one? Oh, my gooseberries. It’s legendary. I was at a Don Henley concert. Right? My white fraternity brothers and I stayed almost until the end, and Don refused to play “Sunset Grill.” Can you believe that shit? And to top it all off, the next morning we had an early tee time. And we played terribly!

You like that one, huh? Terrific.

Those were the days. The getting was so good—and so, so white.

And now here’s you. Sicko. Could you top an anecdote like that? Could you? Could you even name all the songs on Don Henley’s Building the Perfect Beast? If not, get out of here!

We don’t take your kind—anymore.

Yes, by “your kind,” I guess we mean “our” kind.  

(What’s your handicap, by the way?)

Yes, I got hired here without having technically to “submit” any “materials.” But dude: That was 2005.

And these days I’m so much more culturally aware. I’m vaccinated. I vacation in Mexico. (Well, Lake Tahoe.)

And who could keep up with my multicultural agenda?

No, I haven’t performed “well” on my teacher evals for years, and a lot of my students claim I’m “phoning it in” and should “resign immediately.”

But look closer and you’ll find I recently replaced a John Updike story with a one-page Jamaica Kincaid vignette.  

Amazed? You should be.

(We still read the Updike story, by the way, as an unofficial handout. As for the Kincaid piece, we get to it if we get to it.)

You’re still thinking about my multicultural agenda, aren’t you? Well, cut it out! You’ll never be part of it.

You’re the problem.

Diversity? Did you say “diversity”? We value diversity.

Let me say that again. We value diversity.

What are your thoughts on diversity? Do you value it?

Obviously not because you’re trying to weasel in on a department that’s all white and male.

Did you honestly think you could compete for this position? We have a zero-tolerance policy for white men who are embarrassingly more qualified than we are. You’ll have to work harder than that if you want to get noticed.

Maybe come back when you’ve published a hundred-word piece in a blog that no one’s ever heard of. That’s the going rate around here. Buddy Boy.

For now, please consider your application swiftly and patently rejected—oh, we’re telling everybody about it!—and yes, you blowhard, on the basis of your disgusting race. We’re shocked we even invited you to interview. I guess we couldn’t tell from your application that you’re another dismal white guy.

I mean, look at your résumé. Look at it. “Anthony Brambilla.” Way to go, pal. Do you even like Phish?

Oh, wait, it says you golfed at Wake Forest?

Brambilla, that’s interesting. Is it Hispanic or Italian? Don’t answer that.

Hmmmmm.

What do you say, before we give you the hard “no,” the four of us get together for a quick “nine” at the club tomorrow? I’ll have one of my guys pick you up. Say, eight o’clock?

You’re what?

Afraid you won’t get in?

You’ll get in.