In June he applied for a content strategist role at a software company. In October, four months later, the rejection arrived.
It began normally enough. The company thanked him for applying, said it would not be moving forward with his application, and wished him well in his future endeavours.
Then came the rest. At the end of the email sat the instructions the sender had copied along with the message: a note that this was the rejection email for John, a content writer; that the tone had been kept polite but firm; and a request to insert the candidate’s email address here. The sender had also asked, helpfully, whether any changes should be made to the tone or wording.
He read it twice. The placeholders were still in place. The name in the prompt was not his. Nobody — not the recruiter, not the hiring manager, not whatever approval step exists between drafting and sending — had read it back.
He was less angry about the rejection than about the mechanics of it. He had applied for a content role. Writing that email, and catching the placeholder in it, was the job he had been rejected for.