Impressive Credentials

March in Phoenix: a time when random memory kicks into high gear. It's one of the few times of year when you can sense an environmental change, and it smells different, almost moist, when you walk out the door. It's also allergy season, which contributes somehow to the memory garbage eating up space in my brain. Olfactory-eliciting something-or-other. As I scaled the stairs to our swanky penthouse apartment earlier, something triggered this:

About 10 years ago, I had a job at ASU. Our department was seeking a temporary proofreader for something like $10 an hour. The job would last a month at the most and did not include benefits. I was on the hiring committee, such as it was, and I helped to sift through the dozens of applications we received. This task was depressing on a number of levels. Numerous people clearly didn't understand what a proofreader should be able to do. Someone who emphasized her exceptional attention to detail neglected to update the cover letter salutation, which addressed Wild West Little Buckaroos Marketing Department. Actually, I was the only one who thought it was funny and that the applicant should have been removed from consideration then and there. The other members of the hiring committee graciously suggested that we contact her and request the correct cover letter. She never did resubmit it, perhaps because her destiny was with Wild West Little Buckaroos.

Several resumes featured egregious spelling and grammatical errors and horrific formatting (smiley-face bullets, for example). One applicant, a communications junior, sent a six-page resume that appeared to include every paid job she'd ever had, from raking leaves as a 10-year-old in Wisconsin to working as an exotic dancer at Miss Marjorie's Finishing School Gentleman's Club (awesome customer service skills!!!!!). She also was totally good at spotting typos, and like, all her friends asked her to read over their papers for them because she was like, awesome at that sort of thing. Another applicant--and this made me want to cry--was an adjunct professor with PhDs in English and Linguistics. And this was when the economy was pretty good.

The most memorable aspect of this farrago was the rejection letter that we sent out to all applicants. I was not responsible for composing it. It said, "Although your credentials are impressive, we have chosen a candidate whose skills and experience more closely match the requirements of the position." It was the word "impressive" that stayed with me. The letter was sent to everyone who applied, regardless of how irrelevant (or indeed nonexistent) his or her experience may have been. Some guy applied who had never worked in an office, never mind as a proofreader. In fact, he was a locksmith who was looking to change careers, and he didn't include a cover letter. (His desire to get out of the locksmith business was expressed on a Post-It note. ASU still accepted mailed applications in those days.) I'm sure his locksmith credentials were impressive, but Sweet Jessup. And I'm certain that if someone had applied whose only work experience was making sculptures of child celebrities out of horseshit, he would have received the same letter referencing his impressive credentials. Not that making sculptures out of horseshit isn't a skill, mind you.

I am now reaching for my Flonase. Spring's a comin', and more memory trips could follow.