The Résumé

He’s fifty-seven. Twenty-five years of experience. The résumé is two pages of things he actually did — not managed, not oversaw, did. Built the team. Launched the product. Generated the revenue. Survived four restructurings and two mergers.

The ATS rejected him in eleven seconds. The algorithm parsed his résumé, scored it against the job description, and decided he wasn’t a match. Not because he couldn’t do the job. Because he used the wrong keywords. Because his title was “Director” and the system was looking for “Senior Manager.” Because his graduation date was 1991 and the model has opinions about that.

He applied to forty-seven jobs in three months and got two responses. Both automated. One said “we’ve decided to move forward with other candidates.” The other said nothing.

The recruiters who do respond say variations of the same thing. “You’re overqualified.” “We’re looking for someone earlier in their career.” “The compensation range might not align.” These are all ways of saying: you cost too much because you’ve been alive too long. Nobody can say that, so they’ve developed a vocabulary that communicates age without mentioning it.

He rewrote the résumé. Removed the early jobs. Changed the graduation date to just the degree. Made twenty-five years look like fifteen. The interview rate went up. So did the dissonance. He is performing a version of himself that doesn’t exist — a person with his skills but not his history.

The institution says it values experience. The institution’s hiring algorithm filters out experience. Both statements coexist without conflict.

He’s fifty-seven. He has a quarter century of proof that he can do the job. The machine took eleven seconds to decide he can’t. He’s not angry. He’s tired. And tired is worse, because angry fights back and tired just stops trying.