Evidence to support that Elise is going crazy
Exhibit A:
One job application for a copywriter position asked the question "What is the best piece of copy you have ever written?" My response:
After years of toiling away at pages and prose, I finally completed what was sure to become the next great American novel. As I held my completed 4,224 page masterpiece, a plane full of babies crashed into a nearby field. I cast my life’s work aside and ran towards the flames, grabbing the first child I saw. I turned him over to see if there was still life in his eyes, but there was not. There never had been. This “child” and the hundreds of others scattered among the burning debris were nothing but plastic dolls. I knew right away that this was the work of my arch nemesis, Plaige Urism. I looked up just in time to see the evil woman grab my book, hop on her hovercraft and take off. My cry of despair rivaled the din of the weeping robot babes, but there was nothing I could do. After that, I wandered through life a shell of a person, my spirit gone with my novel. Years later while walking past a book store, I saw my story. It had been divided into seven volumes and was being sold to millions all over the world. My elation at finding my long-lost masterpiece quickly turned to despair when I saw the byline: J.K. Rowling, Plaige’s secret identity. Not only had she stolen the best piece of copy I have ever written, but she had also denied me fame and fortune. Now, there is nothing I can do but hope that one day, I can write a book to rival my own.
Honestly, I'm a little surprised I didn't get that job. Claiming to write the Harry Potter novels shows creativity and awesomeness, but perhaps it displays too much crazy.
Exhibit B:
In an in-office interview for a marketing job at a welding company, I was asked the following question:
"What experience do you have with welding or welding machines?"
My response to the executive who had spent the past 30 years of his life with the company:
"Well, I've seen Flashdance....so....that's about it..."
I have yet to hear back from them.
Evidence to support that potential employers are asking ridiculous questions
Exhibit A:
In an online job application for a marketing position, I was given the following writing prompt:
"Writing in the first person, describe a turtle's greatest accomplishment"
My response to this inane, totally irrelevant, but kind of fun question:
It’s not easy carrying your house around with you everywhere you go. Imagine, every time you want to go to the grocery store or the movies or even just to visit a neighbor, you have to pick up your home and all your belongings and trudge on over to your destination. That’s why turtles are so slow, and that’s why simple things like crossing the street are so perilous. In my 72 years, I had never seen a single member of my family cross the street, but we always speculated about the other side. We could see that the grass was indeed greener, and we guessed that the worms were plumper, the ponds more inviting and the birds less threatening.
One not-so-special Tuesday morning, I decided I did not want to wonder anymore—I wanted to wander. I kissed my wife and eggs goodbye and slowly began the long journey across the road. Thankfully, the traffic was light and I made it an entire five feet without encountering a single vehicles. My luck would not last for long, and the rest of my journey was plagued with cars and trucks and mopeds whizzing by, threatening the home I bore on my back. I kept walking, focusing on each step, until I felt grass under my feet. I had made it, and the other side was just as wonderful as I had imagined. I looked back across the street to see my family celebrating my great accomplishment, or at least I assumed that’s what they were doing—I had forgotten my glasses at home.
I think that story is downright precious, so if I don't get this job, I'll at least have a great start to my collection of children's stories.
Exhibit B:
For another marketing job, I was asked to "choose any word and add, subtract or change a few letters to make up a new word and define it." After running through several manipulations of the words "eggplant", "giraffe", and "leotard", I settled on the following:
Fedorable (adj.) - adorable or charming while wearing a felt hat with a curved brim.
I'm not sure where this evidence leaves me--either crazy, or a victim of the ridiculous. Either way, finding a career is turning out to be a lot less professional and a lot more song and flashdance.
