All he did was upload a résumé. What happened next… will haunt him forever.

You ever apply to one of those jobs where it just says “Upload Résumé and Submit”?

No login. No cover letter. No 5-paragraph essay on “Why You’re Passionate About Synergy.”

Just one clean button. Upload. Submit. Done.

A rare and beautiful unicorn in the corporate wild.

So I did it.

I uploaded my résumé. I clicked submit. And right as I’m about to get up for my reward snack (because submitting a résumé is an achievement), the screen shifts.

“Before we move forward, please complete our quick assessment.”

Quick?

You mean like a few yes-or-no questions? Maybe a typing speed test?

I can do that. Bring it on.

Except no.

This wasn’t “quick.”

This was the SAT, the ACT, and an escape room challenge all rolled into one.

Timer starts: 60 minutes.

First question: “If Sally is twice as old as Tom was when he was half as old as their dog, how many pancakes can fit in a canoe?”

I blacked out halfway through.

Next section: Word problems that feel like riddles from a troll guarding a bridge.

Then it asks me to rearrange letters to form words—while a timer counts down like I’m on Who Wants To Be a LinkedIn Legend. I’m out here sweating, second-guessing whether “lamp” is even a real word anymore.

By minute 27, I’m deep in an anxiety spiral.

I start wondering if the job is even real.

Like maybe this isn’t an assessment at all.

Maybe it’s a government experiment to identify which of us can be trusted with nuclear codes.

Then came the emotional endurance segment—aka the “personality test.”

Questions included:

• “Would your coworkers describe you as dependable?”

• “Do you enjoy rules?”

• “Have you ever wanted to punch a printer in front of your boss?”

  
  

  Wait, was this written by my therapist?

I’m answering truthfully at first. But by question 73, I’m so paranoid I start trying to guess what they want to hear.

Like:

“Do you prefer to work alone or with others?”

I type: “Whichever makes you love me, Karen.”

The last section of the test?

Situational Judgment.

Where they give you corporate crises like:

“You’re in a meeting. Your coworker Brian takes credit for your idea. Your manager praises him. What do you do?”

A) Smile and let it go

B) Speak up respectfully

C) Cry in the parking lot and eat drive-thru tacos

(They only let me choose one, which felt rude.)

Finally—finally—I click submit.

My soul leaves my body.

My laptop is overheating.

I’ve aged at least two tax brackets.

Then the screen refreshes and says:

“Thank you for applying. If selected, a recruiter will be in touch.”

And that’s it.

No badge. No “You survived the psychological gauntlet” sticker. Not even a “Good job, buddy.”

Two days later, I get an email:

“We’ve decided to move forward with candidates whose skills better match our needs.”

Ma’am… you made me do algebra, personality diagnostics, and ethics case studies like I was applying for Secret Service—and now you’re telling me my skills don’t match?

If you needed someone with JavaScript, just say that.

No need to put me through a Hunger Games tribute quiz.

Anyway, I now list “Survived a Job Application Assessment Without Crying (Much)” under my accomplishments on LinkedIn.

Employers want resilience?

I’ve got 60 minutes of it, documented and timestamped.