The Great War against the Resumé

The other day I fought yet another battle in the great war against the resume.  For years now, I have been fighting this battle, and somehow, I always lose. 

By the end of high school, I had a small list of jobs I had worked, which I warily referred to as a resume.  And throughout college I slowly learned the need to add summaries and descriptions of the job’s duty.  In December of my sophomore year of college, I applied for a substitute teacher position at my local elementary school.  It wasn’t my first job, but the first one I had needed a “real” resume for.  I enlisted my mother’s help and came up with something good enough for them to hire me (although I think they cared more about my 5+ years of childcare experience than they did the format of a piece of paper).

The next year, I applied for an internship with my university.  I enlisted my mother’s help again, and came up with something a little more professional.  And when I brought it to an unnamed professor’s office (if you still read this blog, you know I’m talking about you), he clicked his little pen and collared right over my pretty little lines, just like the kindergarteners I care for everyday.  I remember him saying specifically “You don’t need to put babysitting experience in your resume.”  I guess that was a good thing, because it meant I had enough actual experience to qualify, but it didn’t make it any easier.  Having to erase a part of my life—my work experience—just because it wouldn’t make someone want to hire me.  But I worked so hard!  It didn’t matter.

I went home and reformatted it, reworded, reworked, redesigned… put “RE” before pretty much any verb—that’s what I did to my resume.  And again I went into that dark basement office and watched him doodle on my hard work. And again I RE-everything-ed it.  Until it was to his satisfaction.  Then I sent it off to the internship and (probably found a mistake right after hitting the little envelope button) then, a few days later, I got the job.

And I happily forgot about my resume for a while.

At the end of the internship we had to add a few lines explaining the work we did throughout the job.  I reluctantly completed the assignment, then once again put my resume in the back of my mind.  That dark dingy corner with the cobwebs that you try to avoid at all costs.

But another summer went by and before I knew what had happened, it was my senior year of college.  I had been encouraged (the polite way that educators say “do it. Or else you will fail at life”) to enroll in a class called Career Prep for Writers.  I was excited to learn about publications and how to submit writing to here and there and everywhere.  Until the first assignment was to bring in a resume.  Then we workshopped the resume.  I climbed into that cold dark corner and brushed away the cobwebs, reaching for the document while trying not to bother the spider’s nest.  And then next day, everyone in my class clicked their pens and ripped apart all my hard work.

Again the 2 letter prefix was added to many words as I cut and pasted and thesaurused my way to a new resume.  But at a certain point, it just wasn’t working for me.  So I called in the professionals.  People: never say no to help, especially if it’s from your mother.  Keep her on speed dial.  Make sure she’s only an email away.  The 20-Something-Writer needs his/her mother.  Especially if your mom’s anything like mine.  If I don’t say it enough mom, thank you.
            Mom took all my words and put them into neat little boxes.  She bulleted everything and cut it all down and made sure everything was perfectly aligned.  And I was so happy with my shiny new resume. I thought I was finished.  Set for life.

Boy was I wrong.

We workshopped our resumes at least 3 times during the Career Prep for Writers class.  We also had to complete a “mini-internship” which I had to add to my resume.  FYI: the word “mini” is NOT professional.

During the same semester, I applied for my second internship.  This is when I learned a very valuable lesson: everyone views resumes differently.  My professor in the class gave me an A on my new shiny resume.  But the internship professor clicked his pen and once again regressed back to kindergarten.  He helped me get the internship, but I realized then that I would never be able to please everyone.  One person might think that my resume looks great—“Spread your wings and apply for all of the jobs”, but someone else always has a few more edits.

As I prepare for my big move, my mother and older sister have become increasingly concerned with my plans for after I move.  As of right now, I have a job here, and a good chunk saved up, but I was raised to never feel financially secure.  And my mother constantly reminds me that my car Zera is only a short while away from breaking down completely, so I need to be ready to buy a new car.           

I decided this past week to get down to business and clean the dirt off that trusty old document.  And thus the battle ensued.  I sent it to my trusty mother and she worked her magic.  And then I sent it to my sister Sara, who now works as a recruiter in the HR department of national company.  As someone who looks at resumes all day long, I figured she might be a little bit helpful.

The three of us sat at the kitchen table and Sara picked up a pen.  Click.  We spent about three hours crossing things out and adding, rewording and arguing about the right word:

“But Collate just means sort, when really you collected and sorted.  Collecting is the hard part, calling all those people,” said mom.

“Maybe, but “collect and organize” just makes it too wordy” Sara said.

My trusty Oxford American Dictionary app told us that the definition of Collate is “Collect and combine (texts) in proper order” and we agreed that it was prefect.  But will the hiring personnel know the real meaning?

I know that it wont be my last battle, and I know I will never win the war against the resume, but I’ll keep fighting, because… do I have a choice?