industrial abrasives

After several weeks of alternately manic and tragic coverletter-writing and resume-tweaking, the only response I've gotten is for an Accounts Payable (admin) gig with a small company (family owned! third generation!) that sells industrial abrasives to the industry.

Aside from the problem that I'm not entirely sure who "the industry" is, I find this particular kidney-punch from the universe uniquely poetic. Even with 2 1/2 years of post-Swarthmore friendlification and de-grumpifying, I'm sadly still deserving of the old family nickname "Rebuke-ula." The rather blunt and rather unkind aspects of the personality run rampant at moments like this: how can I have received no calls, no response, to my carefully crafted self-promotional excreta? Are employers so rude that they can't just click "Reply" and say thanks but no thanks?

Cooler heads remind me that it's only been a couple of weeks, and the decently responsible hiring manager waits to amass a generously-scaled batch of resumes before ladling out shortstack-sized portions of candidates onto the sizzling follow-up/interview griddle.

If my coverletters are as belabored as that atrocious paragraph, it's no effing wonder. Industrial abrasives: I was born for it.

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