Can I just start by saying it’s an honour to contact you. I’ve heard so much about you from my sources, who I can quote directly as saying you’re “pretty awesome”. I hear you have an impressive collection of notebooks and once came second in an under 15s tennis tournament. We at Super Dream Job Corp. have taken note of your inherent awesomeness and think you would make a wonderful addition to our team.
We have contacted your references, your mother and your best friend and they both agree that you’re pretty nice and always clean, so due to this glowing recommendation we thought it most suitable to set you up immediately as deputy chief head of stuff and things.
You’ll have a corner office, which is what everybody on TV wants, with a really comfy chair and a mini fridge full of San Pellegrino Limonata and Malteaster bunnies all year round.
Your starting salary will be a million billion euros, with benefits including your own car (with a driver, since you selflessly refuse to drive and put motorists and pedestrians alike in danger) and an expense account.
Please do us this great honor of coming to work for us.
The President of the Super Dream Job Corporation
This is an example of a letter I have never received ever. Because apparently dream jobs don’t find you if you’re at home drinking tea and watching Covert Affairs, wondering if it’s really good or if you just really fancy Christopher Gorham. You have to look for them and apply with your CV, possibly the most disheartening activity of all time.
It is a misery to sit at your desk, sending out CVs, becoming more and more convinced that you are useless, talentless and fit for nothing.
It was pretty heavily implied, when I went to college, that on graduating I would be inundated with offers from amazing companies looking for mediocre classics graduates. I knew a little more about Greek myths than most people who had seen Disney’s Hercules, why wouldn’t I make an ideal employee? Vice president or something would have been ideal.
Instead I was supposed to take the mortal route of trawling through jobs.ie and trying to personalise my cover letter so that I seemed brilliant, accomplished and generally delightful. No mean feat.
But it has to be done. We have to actually go looking for jobs. No matter how disheartening it may be to be completely ignored, the CVs must go out. Otherwise nobody will know how brilliant we are, and how hiring us would make not only their workplace, but their lives complete.
At least, that’s my opening line for my cover letter. You can use it if you want.