From the Classified Diary—Clearance Level: Need-to-Know, and You Don't Need to Know—of a suspiciously polite job candidate who fell victim to recruiter ghosting.
I’ve been contemplating the art of professional restraint lately. Not the kind that stops you from taking the last biscuit in a meeting—though that too requires heroic self-control—but rather the sort that has you crafting elegantly worded feedback for someone who absolutely deserves a strongly worded text consisting entirely of selected keyboard characters that somehow form a gesture.
You see, I’ve just finished writing a glowing review for a recruiter who, after six rounds of interviews and enough homework to qualify for a part-time degree, decided that ghosting was an acceptable form of corporate communication. “Thank you for the comprehensive interview process,” I typed, while my delete key bore the brunt of my true feelings. “Your thorough approach really stood out,” I continued, which was technically true—much like a sore thumb stands out.
The thing about taking the high road is that it requires considerably more effort than simply telling someone they have the communication skills of a particularly disinterested houseplant. One must carefully translate thoughts like “your professional ghosting technique was impressive” into “your unique approach to candidate communication provided valuable insights.” It’s rather like doing a diplomatic version of those English-to-French exercises from school, except instead of translating “where is the library,” you’re converting “did your email break” into “I appreciate your selective response strategy.”
I’ve become quite skilled at this translation process. “Your ability to vanish faster than my morning coffee” becomes “your dynamic approach to follow-up communications.” “Your talent for ignoring messages rivals my teenage nephew’s” transforms into “your selective engagement strategy was noteworthy.” I’m considering publishing a dictionary.
The real art, of course, lies in maintaining this level of professional courtesy while simultaneously updating a spreadsheet titled “Long-term Professional Relationship Investment Portfolio (High-Risk Category).” It’s color-coded, naturally. With pivot tables. Because nothing says “I’m totally over it” quite like meticulously maintained Excel formulas calculating the statistical probability of future karma incidents.
In the end, I submitted my feedback: thoughtful, constructive, and positively glowing. I even wished them future success, which I meant sincerely—knowing their manager would now set unrealistically high expectations for the world’s most communicative recruiter. Then I added a note beside their contact details in my spreadsheet: “Excellent at reading messages, though replying remains an aspirational skill.”
Maybe this makes me petty. Perhaps maintaining such elaborate documentation of professional disappointments isn’t the best use of my time. But there’s something rather satisfying about responding to ghosting with politeness so aggressive it could be weaponized. After all, nothing says “I’m the bigger person” quite like a five-star review written while plotting coordinates on a karma timeline.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must place a bulk order for delete keys. Their valiant sacrifices in the pursuit of diplomatic excellence have left my keyboard critically understaffed.