Colleagues and friends,
As many of you know, I was just part of the recent layoffs that have swept the tech, media, and Sam Bankman-Fried industries. Publicly, I am taking the opportunity to thank the great many friends, colleagues, and smarmy pieces of shit who are gainfully and inexplicably still employed. Privately, I am concerned about my family’s finances. How am I going to afford to pay for our lives?
I was hopelessly consumed by this dread – spiraling out of control as I suddenly have endless time and no concrete plan – until I saw your words. Then, my God. I felt saved. I saw light at the end of the tunnel. All my dread evaporated as if it was CNN+.
So I am here to say thank you. Thank you for taking the time to share your brilliant, sagely advice to an undeserving, unemployed idiot like myself. And it’s so much more than just words. At a time when I need money or a job or a way to pay for my family’s livelihood, you have given me the greatest material impact I could ask for: You’ve posted on LinkedIn, and your post is so smart that I know it will feed my family.
I was completely lost until I saw you say that you were “devastated” for those of us that lost our jobs. Suddenly, I wasn’t because YOU ARE. And you should feel good about yourself, as your sadness will pay for my family’s groceries. When you round your bill up for charity at the self-checkout at Whole Foods, think of us. Your devastation is our sustenance.
I was dejected until I saw your offer to “get a coffee sometime” with every single person who got laid off. Wow. What impact. I’ll buy your $7 latte, because I know our 23-minute conversation at Starbucks will eliminate my student debt. You do what the Biden administration can only tease.
I was second-guessing my ability to connect with other humans until I saw that you will let me leverage your LinkedIn network. It is so selfless to part with that valuable Excel export that is filled with online vendors, members of your college crew team, and members of your extramarital affairs. The value of those relationships is vast, as I know they will absorb the costs of my wedding in two months. The second half of those bills creep up all at once!
“What oh what will I do next?” was a thought that left my mind immediately when I saw that you offered #resumehelp. My resume – a document my former employer only saw once – had a huge bearing on why I was laid off. Surely, you – somebody not actively looking for a job – are a greater expert in using action verbs, formatting bullet points correctly, and downloading Canva templates. Those skills are rich in more ways than one, as I know your #resumehelp will help us pay our mortgage, which we, first-time home buyers, just locked in at the low, low rate of 700 percent.
I was FLOORED with your offer to help me build my brand on LinkedIn. I, an unemployed piece of shit unworthy of human love, could never say thank you enough for your hashtag research, SEO one-pager, and complete lack of modesty that all led to success on this humble-brag-hell. My engagement rate will be so high, which will help when my wife’s blood sugar is low. I know all the comments and re-shares will pay for her insulin.
Lastly, I was brought to tears by your final gesture, an offer to scream into the abyss on my behalf. We are starting to save up for our daughter’s college tuition, and your weeknight-acting-class-scream will help jumpstart our financial plan. Her first three words were N, Y, and U.
Now that I know I can come to you for a coffee, your LinkedIn network, resume advice, and performative devastation, I suppose I have one departing question.
Now that you’ve made my tragedy about you, can you actually help by giving me a job or some of your money?
No?
Then maybe you should delete your post and shut the fuck up.
Unless you can put me in touch with your most recent affair. I see we have mutual connections and am interested to learn more about her day-to-day.
