Worst Recruiter Ever

People trust me too much.

I’m logged in to my boss’ Linkedin account.

So I could go through his messages and see a lot of sad desperate 25 year olds dying to live the life that’s killing me,

but instead what I’m going to do is sift through the applicants for the Social Media Marketing Position and find a girl who I want to have sex with, and find a reason to give her an interview, because I’m a sensitive young man with a heart full of love.

How could I not do this. The marketing team consists of Me and Myself, so this person would be my direct collaborator, every day, in-person, just the two of us, together. Literally a second girlfriend.

Boss asks me: What type of person do you want to work with? I really want to say Hot Asian Girl but I can’t. It would be uncouth. 

Still, I am rigging the candidates to improve my odds. People trust me too much.

---

Monday. Asian Female named Sophie Lee coming in for an interview. I chose her mostly for her race. She’s not at all qualified. It’s a writing-heavy position, she’s kind of ESL, I doubt her very much. But I have hope.

I sent her a message on Indeed: Hey can we have the password to see your portfolio? No response. Then my boss sends her an email and she responds immediately.

Bitch it’s me you need to impress, not him. You idiot. This is my vengeance on the female world. You fail to respond to my messages, you remain unemployed. Sorry, you should’ve been more considerate of the feelings of a sensitive young man.

If she smells particularly sweet or happens to have D cup breasts, she may be redeemed. But we’ll see about that. Rare in asians. 

---

Black business suit. She thought this would be a bigger company. The title of the role says “Senior”—I guess I get it.

I see her in the parking lot and get a little nervous. She has a decent body. Youthful glow. I really hope she’s good. 

She’s not good. Or maybe we’re not good, we kind of don’t know what we want. 

So nervous. Poor Sophie. I bet she’s good at her job. She’s cute and I love her face from the side. She has a hot tattoo running down her neck, Japanese letters, she reminds me of college.

When she turns to face me head on, though, my heart sinks. She looks to be in pain when she laughs or smiles. I almost typed: i can’t imagine what kind of life that affords you, where you repulse people by smiling— but then I remembered that I too look kind of ugly when I laugh or smile, and maybe that’s why I’m like this.

But when her expression holds firm, and I’m looking at her from that precious 45 degree angle, as she’s stuttering about her current role doing Amazon Ads and Pivot Tables and a whole bunch of other shit I’m sure she wishes she could escape, the faintest little voice in the back of my head tells me to kiss her supple cheek.

She’s a bit chubby, just a touch, with high-ish cheekbones, and so I want to put my lips right there and slip a cool hand down her neck and tell her it’s all going to be okay:

Look at me, Sophie, you don’t know me and you’ll never hear from me again and you won’t even read this but somehow I want you to know that it’s all going to be okay, even if you don’t get this job— trust me, you don’t want it anyway, I’m at the end of my rope here, keep doing interviews and move away from [city] and I swear baby it’s all going to be okay. 

After she left, my boss looked at me with arms crossed and said I Think She Does Not Have the Experience.

I argued for her, nonchalantly, trying to seem impartial, so not to show my hand. The truth is I just want another tortured office romance. Another little muse. Another affair. But I don’t think I’m going to get what I want. I may have to change jobs. 

I’m sorry Sophie, I tried.

---

The next candidate was a white girl, from Georgia. We interviewed her on Zoom.

I wasn’t completely sold on this girl, Shannon, until I noticed those big soft cannonballs beneath her pinstriped shirt. It was a video call, so I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, but sometimes that’s even better. 

Post-chat my boss asks me: What do you think. I give an emphatic review. A verbal standing ovation. She sounds like a leader. She said she could “quite literally fly here tomorrow.” That’s a high-agency person, I know it!

Really, I need this dark hair big-breasted 24 year old southern belle to fly across the country so she can help us improve our social media presence while I stare through her shirt all day every day until she quits.

I am going to change the course of this bitch Shannon’s entire life to contribute another novella to my disgusting collection. She’s going to make it to October or November in the cold dark pacific northwest before she realizes she has made a grave mistake. 

I’m listening to Bossman and the other two older-middle aged women who control this company discuss her candidacy in the other room. We’re going to fly her out. I will don my nicest shirt. Susan will clean out the fridge. My influence here is toxic and I am making everyone miserable.

I’m so sorry in advance, Shannon. I’m sorry everyone. I’m sorry to my girlfriend, my parents, I’m sorry to anyone who reads this awful blog. I’ll keep saying sorry until I write something so bleak that even Substack tells me to fuck off. Something so bad that the AI chatbot monitoring my computer activity in the background says Woah buddy you just got your internet privileges revoked for 99 days, please take this pill to continue.

More likely though, I will go down as a result of my own reckless idiocy. I have no safety net: my parents are dead broke, my friends are all poor and I’m too cool to ask for help. I have negative thousands in credit card debt and I’m too proud to pay parking tickets or fucking medical bills because I just can’t stop living for the moment.

Don’t worry about me though, it’s all fictional. Even if it weren’t, there’s nothing you can do. I’ll die singing this song: everyone can only help themselves.