I had an epiphany yesterday. Possibly while eating.
We’re what’s for dinner.
I say “we” — devoid, yes, of any credibility, elected or appointed — and mean my unemployed, recent college graduate compatriots and I. Please forgive my liberty, but I do think I’ve something going here — and I’m simply not ready to stand in solidarity.
Lest you believe in an imminent cannibalpocalypse post-bath salts phenomenon, I’ll clarify that I’m using a metaphor here.
But in purely metaphorical terms, I really think it’s true. We’re what’s for dinner.
See, I was overhauling my résumé yesterday, per the advice of someone I’ve never met (“I can’t tell who you are from this”), when it came to me. Résumés are people menus, designed with aesthetic and verbal precision to display the most succulent façade for any prospective bite. They boast the most delectable qualifications and carry no more than a paper promise to dish them out.
So yeah. One could say, in the job market, we’re what’s for dinner.
Except inside today’s market, the Internet agora (extended metaphor ending soon; pinky promise), the vendors are so vast and the buyers so waning in disproportion that our care goes obsolete. Our people menus are fed, it seems, into a system both gluttonous and reluctant to consume the populace most hungry to please — one pleading for individualism amid an ironic, anachronistic means of standardization.
Though other means to express oneself before willing employers have, in fact, caught up with technology, résumés remain the standard, with any diversion squelched by most, whether literally or intrinsically, as “unprofessional.” It’s unlikely any alternative will fit the acceptable file formats on your employment engine, for starters.
Now, I don’t offer a formulaic solution to our gourmet résumé influx. But I do mind the absurdity of it all.
For unless you are, in fact, on bath salts, people are not to be eaten like dishes at a restaurant. They are not passive. You will not know them from an annotated list of humble brags. They are hired to do, after all, not be.
When I eventually came down from my philosophizing/sorrowful bbq potato chip binge yesterday, I finally finished my résumé overhaul. The outcome wasn’t ultra-conventional, and yeah, it had some spunky subtleties.
But it’s me, and I pride my own strange blend of herbs and spices. So chew me up or spit me out.
(Again, zombies, I mean that metaphorically.)