My Diary in Procrascination -- Or How to Write a Job Application

I have to help my brother write a job application. There's nothing wrong with his job in particular, but he's going for a new position in his department with better pay.

I don't particularly want to help him, but I have to.

He's my brother. But also I know I have to help him this because he's asked me to help him about ten times since Saturday. I was supposed to help him on Saturday but my date took up the entire day and so he had to work on it on his own.

"I did a bit the other day," he tells me; "...see if it's any good."

Yeah, the... result wasn't great.

Now it's Tuesday, and his application is due on Friday, and he has done part of it-- kind of-- but I'm the one who has to refine it because pretty much all he's written is useless, and I'm good at writing applications.

Essentially, I have to rewrite almost all of it. Now, I have plenty of time. I write fast, I think fast, I don't doubt in my ability to get this done. I'm not worried. I mean, I cruised by with with all-nighter essays way more than I can even remember in school. I write. It's what I do. But he obviously doesn't think I can do it, because it's all he's been asking me for four days now.


Aaand... I just got a text.

"Hey Dimes, how is the worst application ever, going? I left the USB and printout on my desk."

Really? Like where you told me it was last night? Like where you showed me it was? Like where I saw it again as I went past your room this morning? How strange that the USB didn't get up and fucking decide to take a brisk walk around your desk. Very surprising.

I actually was just about to pick up his application prior to getting his message.  But now that I'm faced with the SMS, I feel incredibly irritated. I resist the urge to scratch my butt and go back to bed. And then to browse Tumblr. Days off are great. When I can you know, have a day off. But I decide, no, even though I have three entire days to do this application, which is plenty of time-- I better do this to placate him, since he's so worried about it.

I fail. I browse Tumblr instead; but dammit there's nothing really new there since last night.

Sigh.

I open LibreOffice, because I'm too cheap to buy Word.

Then I browse YouTube for half an hour.

Aww. That kitten is having a nightmare. It's paws are all cutely twitchy. Awwwww! It got hugged close by the mother kitty. OMFARG. That's the cutest thing I ever sawed! I miss having a cat; but most of all I miss my kitty.

I wanna be a sleepy kitten, too. It looks so nice. I wanna be snugged like that...

....I want to be snugged in general. I want a boy to snug me. A cute boy. I has one, kinda. But I want like a good one. Who laughs at my jokes. Why do I have to be such a loser? Why does he not think I'm funny? Why isn't he funny? Why can't he be what I wa--

Oh yeah, the application.

Sigh.

Wait, my right eye is twitching. What the fuck is wrong with my eye? Maybe it's eye cancer. Maybe I have a an eye pustule on top of my eye cancer, maybe... great, now my left eye feels so scratchy. Must not rub it, I can get pinkeye if I get bacteria in it, right? That is really scratchy. Do I have something in my eye? Did I get an eyelash in it? This eye is always doing that. Maybe it's eye cancer in both eyes. Must not google eye cancer...

... oh God, that sounds awful. Must not Google Image Search eye cancer...

OH MY GOD.

I regret that, I really really regret that.... oh Jesus, those poor people. Shudder. Don't Google that, just a heads up.

....Must not... rub... eye... where are the facking eyedrops. Fuck, my room is messy. Maybe I should clean my room.

Ah, shit. I'm procrastinating again.

.... shit.

This is why I never get anything done.

Okay, lets do this. "Due to my vocational experience in this sector I..."

SNORE.

This is so fucking boring.

Why did I say I'd do this again? Oh wait, I didn't have a choice.

Goddamn it, this selection criteria doesn't even make sense.

WTF is wrong with my fucking right eye!? Fuck it, let me take a look. Is it twitching as much as it feels like it is? I feel like a Bond villain about to explain a death contraption. All I need is a hunch (I'm almost there due to my bad posture,) and to perfect my hand-rubbing technique and evil cackle. Wait, that's not a Bond villain, that's Igor from Young Frankenstein.

Well there's nothing in my eye and I don't notice the twitching in my right eye, so I guess I'm not dying from eye cancer.

Oh hey, a zit on my chin.

My mom rings; she's excited because they're going to re-show her play on local TV because it had good ratings. Well good ratings for a local TV station. Mmhmm. That's great. Mmhmm. Yes I saw it. Mmhmm, I know what happens, I helped you rehearse, remember? I fucking know that play inside out, I almost memorized it. Oh ten thousand people watched it. That's really neat. I'm happy and proud of you. Okay. Look, I gotta finish Jay's job application. I'll talk to you later.

"Because of my extensive experience within..."

.............. PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT.

One of my friends in the US tells me he's going to Subway. I start browsing the Subway US site for ten minutes. Mm Philly Cheese steak. I wish I could get Philly Cheese Steak in Australia. That was like the most delicious thing ever. Sigh. I really miss the US sometimes.

Aaaargh. Okay. Back to the application.

.... what? That doesn't even make sense. What do they even want? Let me read it again; maybe it'll make more sense if I break it down.

.... no, it still doesn't make sense.

WHY can't they just say what they mean!?

I wanna bash my head against the keyboard. I wanna throw my laptop from my balcony. I wanna... oh hey, there's a bird on my window sill.

Okay, just do this. You can do this. Once you do this you can eat a pudding. You like pudding, right? Of course you do. Everybody fucking loves pudding. Except maybe those freaks that don't like pudding. Wait, why am I negotiating with myself in the third person? And why am I bribing myself with pudding? What am I? Twelve?

Mm... pudding.

.... dammit, why am I eating pudding suddenly. It was supposed to be a reward when I was done. Now I've been here like five hours straight and I have no more pudding.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu...


....

Okay, Fine. This is it. Time to pull my finger out, I guess.

"Most of my vocational experience has centered around deadline orientated positions...."

Centered? Around? Orientated? Jesus, that's a lot of directionally based nothing. Yeah, that needs editing.

I'm verbose, as I repeatedly say-- so I'm actually really good at job applications. Sure most recruiters will say to stay away from flowery language, but this is bullshit. Look at this selection criteria. It makes no fucking sense:

 "The ability to provide a range of services required in the delivery of regulation, inspection and/or compliance activities and ability to apply this to regulatory functions and services in a regulatory environment."

What? What does that even mean? A range of services in a regulatory environment? All I know is they're fucking obsessed with being regular. Like regular on the toilet? Yeah, I got your regulatory functions right here.

The fact is people are impressed by verbosity; especially if it doesn't make any sense and it seems intellectual-- and especially on job applications. The amount of job applications that both ask straightforward questions and want straightforward answers are actually pretty rare. If you find one like this, you can usually tell straight away by the selection criteria. But most of the time, It's all bullshit jargon, and you have to answer in more bullshit jargon.

And I can tell you that I have an extremely high success rate for my job applications on the whole; I could probably help people with their cover letters for a living except for the fact that if I had to do this every day I'd facking kill myself quicker than you could say "regulatory functions."

They say that you need to submit between thirty and fifty applications on average  before you're even granted an interview; depending on your field. I've never really had that problem. Three years ago, when my brother's department folded and they terminated his contract, he desperately needed another job. I wrote him five applications and he was offered five interviews. Some of the positions he was under-qualified for--including the job he eventually went for -- and yet I didn't even have to lie on the applications. Of those, he was offered three positions and he had a job within about a month.

So, I have no problem getting interviews-- somehow my applications stand out. And my brother is pretty charismatic, so he tends to ace the interviews on the whole. It's a 50/50 deal. He bullshits in the interview, I bullshit on paper.

As for me, well, I have had the same kind of success in my applications, but after I get the interview, though, It's all down hill from there. Then they take one look at me and think; 'Hey, wait, is that a female version of Igor from Young Frankenstein?'

Speaking of, my legs really need shaving. Jesus. That's gotta be at least 1cm long now. Oh hey, while I'm doing my legs, I should do other relevant parts too. You know, while I'm excelling in my task of hair removal.

Excelling in my task... oh yeah, the application.

Sigh.

I so gotta pee.

Oh yeah, my weights are out here. I keep forgetting to do that. I really need to do my weight reps this week-- I was supposed to do it yesterday. To be honest, that's another thing I keep putting off doing. This sucks, but it's better than actual exercise. But compared to writing Jay's job application, this idea of exercising suddenly seems appealing. I think I'll do some exercise after this.

Five minutes still counts as exercise, right?

Fine... whatever. I'm working on it. Really. Okay. "My ability to multitask, self-manage, and effectively organize my workload has been crucial in enabling me to successfully fulfill my obligations...."

Yeah that sounds good, I don't even understand what I just wrote.


.... Oh hey, I've finished the application. Sweet. That's not too bad, I think. Has it got the old Dimes magic? I don't know. Time will tell.

You know, I get so much shit done when I don't want to do something. Fucking A.

And hey, that wasn't so hard...

I should help my brother with his job applications more often.