We regret to inform you...

We regret to inform you... that you have been rejected for every single research grant you applied for. Yeah, all five of them. Yes, we know that you spent the entire month of August writing five completely different 30-page research proposals (when August was the first time off you’ve had in three years and all you really wanted to do was sit in front of the TV and eat cookies). And we know that your research would greatly benefit third-world child prostitutes. We also know that you’ve already proven yourself by doing similar research and that you subsequently got published in a highly respected law journal. And that you won an award for the article. And since you’ve already done the preliminary research and made so many contacts in the field, you could do more for child prostitutes in Southeast Asia than anyone else. But we really don’t care.

We regret to inform you... that you have been rejected for the federal job you traveled all the way to Chicago to take a test for. Yes, we know that Chicago is a three hour drive from your house. And that Wisconsin got ten inches of snow the night before you had to leave and you spent two hours shoveling your car out of the driveway while you were eight and a half months pregnant. We understand that you paid $120 for a hotel room in Chicago and roped a friend into driving down there with you because you were scared to travel alone so close to your due date. We also know that you had to use the jaws of life to remove the high heels from your pregnancy-swollen feet and that your interview suit was ruined when you attempted to pull the jacket over your enormous stomach, causing a button to pop off with such force it took a chunk of fabric with it. None of this matters to us.

We regret to inform you... that we won’t be hiring you to work in our office, even though you worked here last summer and the people in your department wrote you glowing letters of recommendation and said you were the best intern they’ve ever had. Even though you performed better than 46 other interns at the mock suppression hearing we made you argue in a courtroom where the air conditioning was broken on a ninety-degree day. Sure you were two months pregnant and so nauseous and faint you thought you were going to die, but this doesn’t matter to us. Nor does it matter to us that you turned down several other internships, including two in D.C. and one at the U.S. embassy in Laos, because you thought there was a chance we would hire you after graduation. Hahaha, don’t make us laugh. Your grades aren’t good enough for us. Sure, we knew what your grades were before we hired you for the summer, but we just thought we would SCREW YOU.

We regret to inform you... that the job you interviewed for a mere three days after giving birth doesn't even exist. Yes, we understand that you arose from your maternity bed and put on your interview suit and drove two hours then answered difficult questions for three hours, all while in hideous pain. However, the state has cut our budget and now we’re laying people off, so please abandon all hope.

We regret to inform you... that you quit your easy but boring $70k per year job and took on $100k in debt to go to law school, then worked your ass off for three years, apparently for nada. Sure you moved away from the city you love more than life itself to establish yourself in a Midwestern college town populated entirely by frat boys and girls who wear Uggs and sweatpants with cutesy little words written across the ass. And now you’re a single mother and therefore in permanent exile from the only place you want to live, and you’ll soon be moving in with your parents at the age of 34. What happened? We’re not sure, but we think you suck ass and we’re not hiring you. Ever.

Sigh.