POV: You're Applying to a Minimum Wage Job in 2034

Just the second round of a seven-round interview process.

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*speaks in Transatlantic AI soy voice*

Ayo bruh, sorry I was two hours and 45 minutes late to chat. I was literally mewing on the Lil’ Peep Memorial Freeway this morning and this lit vintage Cybertruck in the lane next to me literally exploded. That one hits different.

Hol’ up—Doja Cat literally just launched a new vape flavor called “Menthol” and I need to gatekeep it on my Neuralink…

So gyat! I just downloaded your resume from OnlyFans.jobs and, on god, there were literally no red flags—SHEESH, actually, your application is straight fire. You understood the assignment. Not tryna glaze you, but your cover letter was literally bussin’ fam. It’s giving Big Dick Energy. Shit slaps. You def passed the vibe check.

No cap, the pay is pretty mid—literally only $500 trillion Trump Bucks per month. But this company is based AF. Our department needs a glow up from a Gucci GOATed sigma rizzler that wants to cook with straight gas and mog the NPC opp and secure that bag. We’re finna in our guap era. Periodt. There’s literally no dress code other than to pull up in that drip drip. How many Supreme hoodies have you copped?

I’m kinda shook though. I know you’re ready to slay, but we have literally 100,000 other applications that are acting zesty, but I need to sift through them. Big yikes. So take an e-bike home, text your therapist, touch grass. Just don’t make waiting on me your Roman Empire. I promise I won’t ghost you, bestie. Next sit-down will be a banger.

Pluh.

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