In one corner of a computer room at a certain prestigious business school stands a lone laser printer, a laser printer apart from the rest. Although it is maintained in immaculate working order, local custom dictates that it be used only on extraordinary occasions. A plaque affixed to its clean gray surface gives the reason: this laser printer, a gift of the class of 1986, is exclusively for printing resumes. It is a sacred device, a machine for communicating with the gods, and it is treated with a reverence appropriate to its exalted status.
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In the rationalist version of the job-finding story, we inhabit a perfect meritocracy, a Horatio Alger never-never land in which the most qualified individual will always, given a modicum of ingenuity and effort, win the appropriate position. But as nearly everyone over the age of six knows, this is hogwash. The gods of capitalism are inscrutable gods indeed, with all manner of strange whims and tastes that are largely incomprehensible to the lowly job-seeker. Who knows why one person is hired and another ignored? Enter the vast and ever-growing resumé industry, which exists to explain, as did Milton, the strange ways of the gods to man.
A typical university bookstore offers about 40 titles on resume writing, job hunting, interviewing, and the composition of cover letters. Their bright paper covers are emblazoned with boasts about the millions of copies sold, the deadly effectiveness of the advice found within, and assurances that this is the very latest, most updated edition. Nobody really knows the exact size of what is called the “outplacement consulting industry,” but we know it’s vast: somewhere over $400 million per year. Its potential is perhaps best suggested by a book that not only offers instruction in resumé writing, but encourages us to Start Your Own Resume Writing Business.
To mollify this deity, the literature asserts, a resume must be exactly right. Certain styles work, and others do not. Make one error, and he will banish you without a second thought. As Yate puts it, “trying to do something out of the ordinary with any aspect of your resume is risky business indeed. For every interview door it opens, at least two more may be slammed shut” (emphasis added). But what is the correct path to heaven? Alas, the holy texts do not agree. Some say photocopying is OK; others counsel against it. Some insist that personal data like salary, health, and place of birth are essential; others strongly advise that they be omitted. Some maintain that a nicely typed resumé is adequate; others claim that nothing less than professional typesetting will suffice. Even the spelling of “resume” is the object of considerable dispute. Does it have one accent mark? Two? None? Nor is there much tradition upon which the quester might fall back: “resume” seems only to have appeared in American English in the 1960s.
Finally, in what is perhaps the oddest feature of this utterly self-interested literary style, your motives must not derive from personal ambition. You must be a philanthropist, a dedicated servant of the greater corporate good. This is most painfully obvious in the “objective” section of the resume, where the writer sets forth his or her career plans. However desperate you may be, the standard form is not to declare your desire to have a job or earn a lot of money, but to speak selflessly about how much you want to “contribute to the advancement of my field,” “to be a key individual on the management team,” or to find a position “where my experience and training can be fully utilized.”
