February 27, 2024 | Rome, Italy

Cover letter

By |2018-03-21T18:21:22+01:00November 12th, 2006|Area 51|
My references say it: someone who executes.

o Whom it May Concern: I am aware, trust me. I’ve done this before. Applying is my favorite. Let me tell you a few things for starters. I bring oxygen. Check my references. My exhaling is praised.

Systems matter to you. I’m fluent in Nine. I know the maker of Ten. I flirted with Twelve (tell no one). I carry Twenty’s child (a certificate).

There’s more.

Here’s my favorite phrase: ideally suited.

I served in a war. No language was spoken. The script was pure penmanship.

No one understood except me. I learned I couldn’t be wrong. That was the mission.

You may think me bold.

But it’s what you need. All of you. I believe it.

The complications, with me exhaling, you just won’t notice. I’ll have you covered.

I manage anger; I am sensitive; I train others to kneel. My faith is yours, an adaptation.

Also know this:

As a youth I imagined your company, what it might mean when my life came time. Every time I deferred I learned more. I had an insignia. A spreadsheet, for example. A PowerPoint. I introduce you with my eyes closed. I don’t need the facts.

You might think I’m rambling but I’m not. This matters.

Applying is my favorite thing.

But only when I’m ideally suited.

The last time, as project manager, the place we built was a hotel. I knew how to use it. No one told me; no one trained me. Alone, I came up with night. I met Twenty. He confided secrets. I applied them brilliantly.

Imagine how it works.

Between your departments, overhearing, and I’m not shy. Later, you’ll thank me. I know how it works.

Your profile says you need someone who makes up their mind.

That’s me in a war. No matter what. Survival isn’t stylish. My references say it: someone who executes.

And I’m never sick.

Malfunctions, when they happen, concern my smile: I’ll scowl at your enemies. They’ll know I’m good with Nine, better with Ten. They’ll guess the rest and keep their distance.

Twenty can tell you more.

Twenty-three I’ll get to. I know my way.

People say I know what’s coming. It’s a feeling.

But I know your next question. Where do I see myself in a few years?

It comes up a lot.

Between games and rainy days, you say, I could lobby for language.

I’ve been asked as much: Do I want to speak? Will I ever speak? Why won’t I not? Am I trying to be cute?

Let me tell you what I told my ex. I don’t talk to strangers.

No offense.

It’s down to the kind of person you need. No idling. Not a moment wasted.

I came up with the night. Alone! Imagine the concept!

We never got around to words.

But hire me for the breathing. It’s world-class sound.

Don’t dwell on the subtle. It’s not a word they get.

The basics are the stylish, the grunt. People get the meaning.

You never need to apologize. You never need to be wrong. You never have to explain. You humor them through me.

Silence grows on you. Trust me.

About the Author:

Christopher P. Winner is a veteran American journalist and essayist who was born in Paris in 1953 and has lived in Europe for more than 30 years.