Dear [NAME OF COMPANY] HR Person Who Has To Read My Garbage Cover Letter…

Dear [NAME OF COMPANY] HR Person Who Has To Read Whatever This Is…

First of all, bless ya. Seriously.

Look — I heard it was bad form to start a cover letter with “to whom it may concern,” or any of that formal-but-cold business speak. For a while, I considered “‘sup, Tina?” in the vain hope that the person in HR tasked with reading my nonsensical ramblings might, in fact, be named Tina.

Then again, if this person’s name was — in fact — Tina, they might find it very upsetting, which might lead them to — you know — not hiring me. Nothing good comes out of leaving oneself open to a (very understandable) harassment charge because you creeped out a (hypothetical) person who literally works in HR (in my brain.) I mean, Tina works for HR. She could literally report you to herself and you’d be in just as much trouble. And before you say anything: no, I didn’t look that up to make sure I was being “accurate” or any of that old media guff. But I mean it. Getting wrapped up in a harrassment charge with someone in literal HR would be like building a time machine specifically so you could go back to October of 2003, and walk into Fenway Park dressed as the ghost of Babe Ruth.

Look — one of my cousins is named Tina, and I’m listening to synthpop while I write this, so I’m picturing HR as being like this weird pop-art deco neon office space where everything is just slightly off-kilter. Chunky ear rings, chunky phones, random sunglasses and bubblegum. That kind of thing. Such a place would naturally be populated only by women named Tina. Or Saffron. Maybe there’s a Mr. David, and you have to call him “Mr. David” or he threatens to turn off the synthpop.

Regardless, for some reason, nothing gives me serious anxiety, self-loathing, and flagrant displays of procrastination like having to write a stupid, stupid cover letter.

They’re dumb.

Cover letters, man.

While writing this, I paused for 30 seconds and let the neon beats sweep over me while I pondered the zen-like resonance of the phrase “Cover letters, man.”

I hate ’em. You hate ’em. Let’s destroy them…together.



P.s It would be hilarious if your name actually was Tina, though. Because I literally just plucked that name out of nowhere. Maybe… it’s… destiny?

Aaaand that’s too much synthpop for this gridrunner.

Oh, shut up, Mr. David.

P.p.s — Also, I would like you to consider me for your Senior [REDACTED] position. I know I’d be a great asset to the strategic team of go-getter goal implementers who think so far outside the box, they’re basically cats who are mad at their owner.

P.p.p.s Don’t worry. You’ll get it. That one’s a bit of a thinker. And a stinker HA HA GET IT IT’S A POOP JOKE! I’m a professional creative team-player who loves a good poop joke. What can I say? I contain multitudes.

P.p.p.p.s — References available upon request.

Person who writes things. Sometimes I record things, too.