“I can write whatever you want, in whatever style you want. I’m really good.” I know I sound desperate. “There’s a list of publications on my CV.”
I hold out the papers, crisp from the folder I’ve been trying not to squeeze, outlining my four degrees and 10 years’ experience.
He nods and grins, his neon orange glasses and overly-white teeth reflecting the too-bright lights.
“You’re like AI. You’re I!” He giggles like a child, amused by his own joke.
I force a smile, hoping I don’t look sycophantic, or gassy, and pray this Gen Z asshat will hire me.