One morning last week, I woke up to an email from a recruiter on LinkedIn. It appeared to have landed in my inbox as if by magic. I hadn't sent in a resume or crafted a tortured cover letter. None of the usual stuff. For once, someone had approached me.
I briefly talked to the recruiter on the phone, and little by little, I allowed myself to get my hopes up. The job most certainly wasn't a scam, and it would have been a huge step up, pay-wise, from what I'm doing now. For a brief second, I felt like I could breathe, like I might wind up doing something I could be proud of, the kind of job you'd assume an educated person my age would have.
I surmised that I had failed their editing test almost immediately after I sent it in. It was in PDF form, which I was unfamiliar with, and I spent half the time scrambling to figure out how to work the software, so I couldn't focus on the actual editing. When I looked at my responses after I sent the document back, I caught a couple of errors that never would have escaped me under normal circumstances. In this field, there is no margin for error.
I knew the inevitable “thanks but no thanks” call was coming, but I still held onto a small kernel of hope that they might be desperate enough to fill the position that they'd overlook those small mistakes. At first, the recruiter's voice sounded cheery, but when she switched to a “thank you for taking the time to apply” tone, I knew my instincts were correct. This is the closest I've ever come to a solid, decent, well-paid job in my life. Everything I've done up to now has been glorified slave labor.
I don't know how I'm supposed to keep living like this. I'm an intelligent person, but it means nothing because I don't have the funds, spare time, or mental energy to expand my skillset. I wish I were dead.