Sorry, You’re Overqualified For The Job


The words hit me like a bag full of candy to the face — incredibly painful, but full of sweetness. Confusion follows. Deep, intense confusion.

I mean, you have to understand why I would be baffled. You said you wanted me. You said so repeatedly. I have the e-mails and the calls to prove it. I didn’t just imagine that.

So is this response an excuse? Are you just saying I’m “too right for you” just to be nice? Are you trying to let me down easy? Or are you serious? Why did you have to word it like that, then? Am I really that good? If I am, then why don’t you just take me?

You’ve put me through all these loops. I’ve aced all your tests — you’ve said so yourself, even. I’ve persevered, I’ve stuck around, I’ve put my best foot forward. I’ve dressed up for you and tackled every obstacle. And at every stage, you showed interest. But now, now that we’ve gone through all the questions and conversations and back-and-forth ridiculousness, I’ve been found wanting?

But you don’t want someone who is perfect for you, do you? Who dots every “i” and crosses every “t.” You want someone less experienced, someone you can mold, someone who will depend on you for every move. Someone who will be so eternally grateful to you that they will dare not question you for fear of losing you. Someone who you think won’t jump ship at the first chance they have.

As if I were ever to do that to you.

I mean, I had other opportunities, other chances to be happy. If you knew I wasn’t what you wanted, why did you string me along? Why did you tease me with the prospect of more? Of something better?

Whatever. It’s your loss. You could have had someone who gave 110% of himself all the time, every time. Someone with a mind of his own. Someone with innovative ideas, who loves being part of a team. Someone who didn’t just automatically think about pleasing you, but also thought of moving us forward, together, as a unit. But you chose the lesser, cheaper, easier alternative.

And when did that ever become a thing? I grew up my entire life to be the best I can be. Now it’s a liability. Should I have been less perfect for you? Should I have smiled less? Maybe not worn my nice shoes? Should I have been less perfect? Less me?

It would have been great with you. We were not just good “on paper.” You know it, and I know it, and had you given me an honest-to-God chance, we could have made magic together.


“We regret to inform you that we believe your qualifications are too high for the job offered,” you say.

“I’m sorry, I just think you’re too perfect for me right now,” I hear.

Might as well be the same thing. 

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