As you may or may not know, I am trying to be a writer. Some would argue that because I write at all, I am already a writer. I’m not so sure about that, so we’ll call what I’m doing “trying” to be a writer. I am like a larva: newly hatched, wingless, and worm-like. I hope to one day become a pupa, because there are a lot of good jokes I could make with that name.
I do the blogging thing, I am working on a humor novel that I am way psyched about, and — in an attempt to make some actual money — I am freelance writing. I joined one of those websites where freelancers can apply for jobs, and it has been really well so far. I like the variety, and I like getting paid. But lately I’ve noticed that I’ve been sending out applications for a bunch of work that I should have at least been considered for, and yet heard nothing.
Yesterday, I found out why.
I applied for an awesome job, and luckily was contacted the next day by the client saying they wanted to hire me. HURRAY! In his e-mail he told me how much he enjoyed my blog, but he thought there was something I should know. (Rut-roh) He said that the resume I sent him, “had your friend Jen’s comments on it.”
Wait, how does he know Jen?
Oh no no no no no no.
Amazingly, he said it didn’t bother him, but he thought that I might want to get rid of the comments before I send my resume out again.
No no no no no no no.
See, back in February I sent my resume to my friend Jen, who is a magazine editor. She made a bunch of comments and helped me reformat it into a thing of beauty. I thought it was in perfect shape. So when I got this e-mail, I pulled my resume up again — still perfect. Not a comment to be seen.
Something was very wrong, here. I am smart enough to know that I am stupid enough to not see comments that are actually there, however. I knew I needed to call on some smarter people to take a look at it. I sent my resume out to my writing group with an e-mail explaining the situation and implying that I might, in fact, be having a heart attack. My friend Courtney e-mailed me back right away and said, “Yup. There are comments there. Here’s a screen shot.”
I have sent a resume to dozens of employers that included comments from my darling Jen, one of which advised me to avoid looking like I was a bum after grad school.
I pulled my resume back up, went to View, went to View Comments, and motherfucking shit whores — there they were. I died a thousand deaths at that moment, and can’t help but feel like it’s kind of a shitty move on the part of Open Office to let you hide comments and not occasionally say,
“Hey dummy. Yeah you. Are you sure you want to keep those comments there when you send that to people asking them to pay you for things? The comments. COM-MENTS. Yes, those. Huh? No, you didn’t delete them before. I made them invisible. Why? Cuz Open Office is a fuck knuckle who will steal your car and sleep with your wife. Get your mind right, bitch.”
Damn it, Open Office!
The good news is that I have finally deleted the comments (here’s a tip: you click on Delete Comments) and should now look like I know just a little bitty bit about what I’m doing.
Lord, people. When I am old enough to have a live-in helper, my quality of life is going to improve tremendously.