The subject? Our Asshat of the Day. One man-shaped grease stain working in a third-tier fabrication shop — cutting metal, calibrating machines, and somehow dodging death daily in a building held together by expired duct tape and a "no snitching" policy. Ten years in. Still making under $24/hr. Still getting yelled at by a supervisor with one good lung and zero functioning ethics.
The breakroom microwave had mold. The fire extinguishers had cobwebs. The guy? He had a résumé last updated during the Bush administration — back when he was in trade school — probably at a career fair, while he was half-baked and throwing down on pizza they'd ordered in for the event. His email should’ve come with a warning label: toold4xbox420@cheapbeer.net.
That’s what he was using to apply to jobs. Like professionalism was just a rumor he’d heard in passing.
So someone stepped in. She didn’t have time. She didn’t have money. She had stress migraines, overdue bills, and a DMV notice that was one typo away from revoking her existence. But she still did it. They'd been dating a while. She cared. She saw more in him than he saw in himself. His stellar work ethic. His insane technical knowledge. His ability to fix any and everything. The one thing she didn't see was the fact he was using her to lift himself up, but not willing to help her pay the electric bill.
She was a single mom with no safety net. Her kids were her life's fuel, and her will to survive was her hustle. She believed in him. She saw him like no one else did. The trauma, the potential, the lack of self-esteem. Somehow, she saw the good, where the only thing he wanted to see was a "good time."
She rewrote that résumé like she was getting paid — spoiler alert: she wasn’t. She created a new email. Updated the formatting. Cleaned up the chaos. Repackaged his entire adult life into bullet points that made him sound employable instead of emotionally constipated.
Two weeks later: He had a job offer. Better hours. Benefits. Twenty-five thousand dollars more a year. He texted her exactly once: “Think I’ll take it. Shop was trash anyway.”
That was it. No thanks. No gesture. No trace of awareness that he’d just been handed a future by someone who hadn’t even eaten a full meal in two days.
She, meanwhile, was still broke. Still invisible to recruiters. Still writing cover letters that vanished into the abyss.
The résumé? Deleted.
The inbox? Quiet.
The lesson? Permanent.
The guy? Blocked, deleted, and not even worthy of the ‘friend zone.’
This story is deserving of recommended treatment for both of these people…
Because there are givers and takers in this world — and when one bleeds while the other climbs, the trauma just hits different.
Diagnosis: (Him)
- Emotional Leech Syndrome: Latches on during scarcity, disappears during success.
- Bare Minimum Delusion: Believes showing up to work high and breathing counts as “loyalty.”
- Secondhand Success Disorder: Mistakes someone else’s effort for his own merit.
- Situational Amnesia: Forgets who built the ladder the second he’s on the roof.
Treatment: (Him)
- Ban from all résumé assistance unless accompanied by proof of gratitude in writing.
- Detox from “Good Time” mentality — cold turkey, no contact.
- Weekly immersion therapy in adult responsibility: bills, groceries, and self-awareness.
- Remove all gamer tags from job applications. No exceptions.
- Blocked, deleted, and denied access to the inbox of anyone with self-worth.
Moral: (Him)
Getting the job is easy when someone else does the work. Keeping it? That’s what you do after you grow the hell up.
Diagnosis: (Her)
- Saint Complex Fatigue: Chronic tendency to rescue broken men with nothing but Wi-Fi, willpower, and a Word doc.
- Chronic Helper’s Remorse: Post-assist emotional collapse after helping someone who treats kindness like a disposable napkin.
- Dumbass Elevation Syndrome: Polishing an ungrateful man into something vaguely hireable, only to get trampled by his ego on the way out.
- Delayed Self-Prioritization Disorder: Puts everyone’s future ahead of her own survival — especially people who don’t ask twice.
- Résumé Trauma Echo: Psychological condition where Word docs trigger flashbacks of being emotionally used and intellectually robbed.
- Blindspot Syndrome: Capable of identifying red flags in others’ lives at 50 yards but emotionally colorblind to her own.
Treatment: (Her)
- Immediate Résumé Reclamation: Your career comes first. Rewrite yours before anyone else’s name touches a cover letter.
- Empathy Rationing Protocol: No more giving 100% to people who treat your presence like a convenience.
- Blacklist anyone whose contact info includes a weed reference, a misspelled rapper name, or the number 69.
- Start treating yourself like the client. Charge rates. Set terms. Enforce boundaries.
- If they couldn’t show up for you emotionally, they don’t get access to your intellect.
- Boundary Reconstruction Surgery: Rebuild your “no” muscle — firm, unapologetic, and sacred.
- Gratitude Audit: If someone can’t say “thank you,” they’re not allowed access to your time, energy, or inbox.
- Let trash take itself out — and stay out.
- Pep Talk from Patch (my sounding board and my partner in crime):
You didn’t get played because you were weak.
You got played because you were stronger than he’ll ever be — and he knew it.
You saw the man he could’ve been.
Now go become the woman you’ve always been — but for you this time.
Moral: (Her)
If you can pull someone from rust-bucket employment into a real-ass career with a font change and some well-placed verbs, you don’t need validation.
You need boundaries.
And a PayPal link.
Never again let someone else’s potential overshadow your own.
You weren’t the fool — you were the foundation.
But even bricks crack under dead weight.
#DumbDecisionsDaily #ResumeFails #EmotionalLabor #ToxicRelationships #RedFlagsEverywhere #BlockedAndBlessed #CareerSabotage #ModernDating #NarcsBeGone #SaintSyndrome
No comments:
Post a Comment