firstname.lastname@example.org | xxx.xxx.xxx
Harmony | Responsibility | Individualization | Belief | Learner
Another Day In The Life
8675309 Greener Lane
Somewhere Better (?) Than Here, 123ABC
Dear Hiring Manager,
Please accept this letter as my (in)formal application. Quite frankly, I am applying because the soap dispenser is on the fritz. Again. At my previous job it was something with the Mother of All Copying Machines – if you don’t speak her language, you might as well just take yourself out of the game because that is what she will do to you. But, that’s nearly all in the past and I’ve mostly moved on.
Here and now, today, it is the soap dispenser – the one on the first floor. I can only properly wash my hands on its terms. I’m tired of scheduling around its potential probability of functionality which is really, in laymen’s terms, a guessing game. It has honestly just become too much. Today, five seconds ago, I overheard at the watercooler the soap dispenser was on the fritz again. I can’t deal with this. So, I’ll take that as my queue to leave or, if you will, a message direct from the Universe: get out, Alexis. Message received, Universe.
Putting myself in your shoes, the hiring manager, I suppose aside from the empathetic tears occupying space in your eyes it is possible you are wondering what I will bring to your organization. Well, what do you need? I’ve probably got it, or at the very least, I can fake it until I make it. Seriously. I can do hilarious, happy, sarcastic, dedicated, busy, not busy, loud, quiet, patient, results-driven, relationship-driven, insert other typical cover letter buzzwords here. I do, however, put my foot down on immoral. And by immoral, I am not referring to using the computer for meaningless social media browsing, occasionally grabbing a roll of toilet paper when I’m low on funds, or renting out my downtown parking pass to any sucker out there. Overall, I see this working out well for the both of us. Perhaps if you squint a little you’ll see it the same way.
More than anything though, I hope you realize the severity of my situation. Honestly, I need this. I invite you to accept the opportunity to play a role in salvaging what sanity and physical presence I have remaining after months of trying to cope with the first floor soap dispenser.
Signing off with a great percentage of satire and a small degree of sincerity,