Another Laura Got the Email

You ever follow up with a recruiter after three solid interviews, a group panel, and a 17-slide PowerPoint titled “Why I’m Perfect For This Role,” and then get a message back that simply says:

“Hi Laura, thanks for reaching out, but I’m not interested.”

Here’s the plot twist:

You’re not Laura.

But Laura?

Laura actually got the email.

That’s right. Somewhere out there, real-life Laura, probably minding her own business, maybe watering a succulent or trying to cancel her Hulu trial, suddenly received a rejection email… meant for you.

And she’s just as confused.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting there staring at my inbox like I just got dumped on behalf of someone else. I’m reading a rejection I didn’t earn, addressed to a woman I’ve never met, from a company I apparently wasn’t even rejected by directly.

It’s like walking into Starbucks, ordering a latte, and the barista shouts,

“Decaf almond milk for Laura! Also, we’re not hiring you!”

Poor Laura is probably wondering what role she got rejected from.

I’m wondering how I got replaced mid-email.

And the recruiter? They’re probably wondering why they suddenly have two Lauras and no one showing up for the role.

I imagine Laura emailing back like,

“Uh… thanks? I didn’t apply, but I wish you healing.”

And I’m over here refreshing Gmail like a raccoon checking a vending machine.

So now Laura and I are bonded forever, united by one rogue email and a hiring process held together by half-baked templates and corporate Wi-Fi.

And let’s talk about that line:

“I’m not interested.”

Not we—not the company. I, the recruiter, in their personal capacity, as if I had just slid into their DMs asking them to elope in Vegas.

I wanted a job, not a relationship. This isn’t Hinge, Brad. I didn’t send you a meme and ask if you liked long walks and cross-functional teams.

So to all the Lauras out there—accidental or otherwise—know this:

If you get rejected out of nowhere, it might not even be about you.

You’re just collateral damage in the great corporate Hunger Games.

And me? I’ll be over here, trying to get hired—and maybe sending a fruit basket to the real Laura for taking that bullet.

We ride at dawn, girl.