The Rejection Signal: Rise of the Ghosted

It started like any other Tuesday: hopeful, caffeinated, and dangerously optimistic. I was 20 tabs deep in a job search, resume freshly updated, cover letter full of “strategic synergies” and “cross-functional collaboration”—aka LinkedIn Mad Libs.

I hit submit on application #173.

Then sat back and whispered to the void, “Maybe this is the one.”

The void whispered back:

Auto-reply: “Thanks for applying! If you’re a match, we’ll be in touch.”

Ah yes. The classic “It’s not a no, but it’s definitely not a yes” email. The job seeker’s version of being left on read by someone you matched with on Hinge in 2019.

I went outside to scream into the wind and suddenly—the sky changed.

Dark clouds parted. Thunder cracked. And there it was:

THE REJECTION SIGNAL.

A giant glowing projection above the city skyline.

But instead of Batman’s logo, it was a massive “We’re moving in a different direction” email… in Papyrus font.

The kind of font that says, “This decision was made by someone wearing Crocs in a leadership meeting.”

The whole city froze.

Baristas stopped foaming oat milk.

Office workers clutched their ergonomic mice.

A lone career coach dropped their green juice and whispered, “It’s begun.”

And just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, a QR code appeared inside the glowing rejection beam. Naturally, I scanned it.

It launched a podcast.

Title: “Keep Trying, Champ.”

Hosted by Chad, a motivational bro with a man bun and zero trauma. He opened with:

“Hey guys! If you’ve ever been rejected from a role you were perfect for, just remember—maybe the universe is trying to tell you something!”

Sir, the universe is telling me I need health insurance.

Then came the app.

A notification popped up on my phone:

🔔 “You’ve just been professionally ghosted. Would you like to:

A) Cry

B) Apply again

C) Send a passive-aggressive meme?”

I chose C.

The app immediately sent a graphic of a flaming dumpster labeled “Talent Acquisition.”

Below it, in cursive: “Thanks for the opportunity.”

I felt seen.

The Rejection Signal beamed all night.

Every time a recruiter hit “auto-decline,” the sky pulsed.

By morning, job seekers were gathering in the streets, holding their résumés like protest signs. One guy had a T-shirt that said “Moved in a Different Direction and All I Got Was This Lousy Trauma.”

Someone brought snacks.

Me? I stood there, eyes locked on the signal, holding Brad the emotional support mouse in one hand and a half-drunk coffee in the other.

And I whispered, “Maybe… I’ll freelance.”

End scene.