“Welcome to the Job Market: Please Abandon All Logic Before Proceeding” The Unofficial Transcript of a Very Real Conversation That Definitely Didn’t Happen Over Burnt Coffee in a Basement Apartment at

Person A:

You ever sit back and think, “Maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe the entire hiring system was designed by someone who lost a bet and just ran with it”?

Because I’ve got experience. I’ve got skills. I’ve got references who will probably answer their phones if you call during normal hours. But here I am—ghosted by a startup that sells eco-friendly paperclips and rejected by a company that asked if I “identify more with a stapler or a whiteboard” during the interview.

Person B:

No, that tracks. This whole job market feels like “Squid Game: LinkedIn Edition.”

Step 1: Apply to 70 jobs in a day.

Step 2: Rewrite your résumé so many times it no longer represents a human being.

Step 3: Answer a five-part question about “your greatest weakness” while pretending it’s endearing and not crippling perfectionism brought on by capitalism.

Person A:

Let’s talk about those “requirements.”

Bachelor’s degree required.

6-8 years experience… for an entry-level job.

Fluency in three languages, must be willing to relocate, and oh—you’ll be paid in exposure and a $10 Starbucks card.

Person B:

And heaven help you if you didn’t go to a brand-name college. The algorithm already fed your résumé to the shredder. Twice.

Meanwhile, Chad—who once spelled “leadership” as “leedersheep” on his résumé—gets the job because he golfs with the hiring manager’s cousin’s ex-boyfriend.

Persona A:

Then come the career “boosters.”

The résumé writing companies.

The LinkedIn optimization “gurus.”

The $400 online bootcamp that promises to make me 78% more employable by Thursday.

They act like my unemployment is just a branding issue. Like if I just changed my headline from “Looking for opportunities” to “Market-Disrupting Synergy Architect,” the gates of Fortune 500 heaven will open and Karen from HR will finally return my email.

Person B:

Let’s not forget the “exclusive job boards” that ask for your credit card before you can apply.

Nothing says “we believe in fair access to opportunity” like a $29.99 monthly fee to upload your résumé into a void where it will be ignored by three different recruiters and one broken algorithm.

Person A:

Here’s the kicker—I’ve seen people with Ivy League degrees who are miserable, and others with no degree building businesses, creating opportunities, and thriving.

But the system? It still acts like your value as a worker is tied to how many tuition payments you’ve made, not what you’ve actually learned or what you’re capable of doing.

Person B:

It’s the oldest game in the book.

Who you know.

Where you’ve been.

What buzzwords you can say without gagging.

Because let’s be honest—no one’s really passionate about “driving engagement through innovative cross-functional collaboration.” That’s not passion. That’s caffeine and fear.

Person A:

Exactly. And then they tell us, “Just be yourself in the interview!”

Okay. Cool. I’m broke, exhausted, and emotionally dependent on a therapy mouse named Brad who now manages my calendar. Still want me to be “myself”?

Person B:

Look, the system’s not broken. It’s working exactly as designed—to make sure that privilege keeps winning, while the rest of us hustle in circles trying to turn rejection emails into personality traits.

But maybe we flip the script.

Maybe we stop playing by their rules and start building spaces where skills, grit, and heart actually matter.

Like that site you showed me—www.interview-games.blog. It’s raw. It’s unfiltered. It’s basically therapy with memes. And best of all? No one there is trying to charge you $500 to “optimize your authenticity.”

Person A:

That’s the goal. Create a space where people can be honest about the chaos, share stories that would get flagged on LinkedIn, and maybe—just maybe—start shifting the narrative.

Because if we can’t laugh about this dumpster fire of a system, we’ll cry. And we’re all out of tissues and health insurance.

Person B:

Well said. Let’s raise a glass of lukewarm coffee to everyone who’s still showing up, still applying, still believing that talent, effort, and humanity should count for something.

And to Karen, if you’re reading this—no hard feelings. Just… stop scheduling interviews during your Pilates class.