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Column: Sorry -- we ain't got no jobs for you

For all those students currently looking for a job, I have some
words of advice.

Please don't.

It's not that you won't get a job. (You won't, but that's your problem.) It's not that I'm worried that you may get a job offer instead of me. (I have already given up trying to find a job, having determined that if every unemployed person on the planet except for me internally combusted and mass fires burned throughout the western hemisphere and I alone owned the world's one remaining fire extinguisher, people would choose to burn to a vicious death rather than hand me so much as a five-dollar bill to bail them out. Not that I am bitter.) No, the main reason I would like you to stop applying for jobs is so that I can tell friends and family how "tough the job market is -- just look at the rest of my graduating class."

Inevitably, some of you will ignore my pleas and go ahead with the application process, which seems like it will never end. But relax, young job applicants, for the process will indeed end! You will know the end is near when you see those two kind words smiling at you in all their glory: "Dear Applicant."

This is how rejection letters begin. You may wonder why they don't bother to put your name in there. The reason is obvious, you nitwit: these people have already rejected you. They have deemed you unworthy of using their stationery. They don't care what you think of them.

For this same reason, rejection letters are among the most poorly written documents in the world, right up there with economics textbooks. Most of them look something like this:

Dear Applicant,

Thank you for being of interest in being employed at our company of beings! Unfortunately, you have not been among those whom we could select as our selections. We received this year a large number of applications, approximately 84 times more than last year we received, which increased the difficulty of choosing our choice.

Again, Thanks and Good Luck in future endeavouring!

Sincerely,

Jane Meathead

Director of Rejection

The Above You Corporation

Your first rejection letter can be difficult to handle. You begin to wallow in self-pity, making things out to be much worse than they are. After my first rejection letter, I was obviously devastated, thinking "I'll never get a job, I'll never get a job." And look at me today: Sure, I never did get a job, but my obvious devastation has developed into a quiet seething.

After you receive a few rejection letters, you may have to "broaden the scope of your search," as the experts say. (Translation: Apply for something to fit your pathetic little qualifications.) Here's how you do this: Think of all the jobs you might actually enjoy. Put them together in a list. Then burn the list -- nobody gets a job they might actually enjoy until they're at least 52 years old, and then only if they know somebody.

Another good tactic for broadening your scope is to write down all the cities you have ever hear of, then cross out all but Cleveland and Cheboygan. Apply for jobs in those two cities only.

Of course, if you still can't get a job, don't fret -- you probably didn't want to live in Cleveland or Cheboygan anyway. And besides, rejection letters can serve a positive purpose. For example: wallpaper. You can plaster rejection letters all over your walls, which will look wonderful in hues of off-white and gray.

Rejection letters also serve another, more practical social purpose: bonfires. When you accumulate a bunch of rejection letters (don't worry -- it won't take long) you can set them on fire, providing heat for days.

And if the fire gets out of hand, remember: I'm the one with the fire extinguisher. The bidding starts at five bucks.

-- Michael Rosenberg will never get a job. Out of the kindness of your heart, please teach him to play some kind of musical instrument so he can become a street musician. He can be reached over e-mail at mcr@umich.edu.