A New Low
Today I received a rejection email for a position I don't even recall applying for. As if that in itself weren't bad enough, as it means I'm either senile or this company is taking a proactive approach to ensure they're not forced to read my ubiquitous cover letter, the whole thing brought back painful memories. When I had only one child, who, on certain days, took pity on me and napped, I would write essays in an attempt to become the next Joel Stein or Anna Quindlan. I'd print them out and force my then-2 year old to listen to them during Wiggles commercials. Next, I would send them off to Newsweek , hoping that mine would be the 1 out of 1,000 selected to appear in the weekly mag's "My Turn" column. How'd that go, you ask? Oh, could I wallpaper my half-bath with the rejection letters! As an English major, I was well-acquainted with the stories of all the heartbreaking rejections Hemingway and Joyce faced, and while I certainly wasn't