Chapter Text
Ricardo graduated from UC Berkeley a month ago, and so far his degree has qualified him to receive seventy-seven automated rejection emails.
This is not technically true. His degree has also qualified him for an unpaid internship in San Francisco requiring three years of professional experience, proficiency in Adobe suite, and the ability to lift fifty pounds. The listing did not explain why a social media intern might need to lift fifty pounds, but Ricardo applied anyway.
They rejected him in eleven minutes.
He is beginning to suspect that majoring in Media Studies may have been a fucking mistake.
**
“It was not a mistake,” Marcelo says.
Ricardo looks up from his laptop. “You told me it was a mistake when I declared.”
“Hey, I only said it was stupid. That’s different.”
They are sitting at the tiny kitchen table in the apartment they have shared since junior year, although sitting is generous in Marcelo’s case. Marcelo is sprawled sideways across one chair with both feet on another, scrolling on Tiktok while Ricardo stares into the open mouth of LinkedIn and waits for it to consume what remains of his self-respect.
The apartment is technically in Oakland because neither of them could afford to remain in Berkeley after graduation. It has one bedroom, two mattresses, three chairs, and a front door that only locks if someone lifts it slightly while turning the key. The landlord said it was fine, while Ricardo called it a building-code violation. But it’s cheap, so they rented it anyway.
“Maybe you need to make your résumé more exciting,” Marcelo says.
“It’s exciting enough.”
“And maybe take off the coursework? I don’t know.”
“I already took most of it off.”
Marcelo leans closer to look at Ricardo’s screen. “What the fuck is Critical Approaches to Digital Intimacy?”
“It was relevant coursework.”
“To what job?”
Ricardo looks back at the screen.
Junior Social Media Coordinator
The position requires five years of experience managing global brand campaigns, advanced motion-graphics skills, familiarity with consumer packaged goods, and a master’s degree.
“Apparently none of them.”
He closes the listing.
**
There are currently eighteen tabs open across the top of his browser. Four are job boards. Three are cover letters he has been rewriting so often that the words I am excited to apply now cause a physical sensation of disgust. One is the Starbucks careers page.
He has not applied to Starbucks yet, which has become an important psychological boundary so far.
Well, there is nothing wrong with working at Starbucks. Ricardo knows that by heart. He respects baristas. He tips baristas whenever he has the money. Over the past four years, he has spent enough at the Bancroft Starbucks to have personally funded at least one employee’s dental insurance, in his opinion.
The problem is that his mother has already told everyone at church that her son graduated from Berkeley and is going to work in media. If he comes home wearing a green apron, she will probably still tell everyone he works in media, just simply become much less specific about which kind.
Ricardo does not want to disappoint his mother. He already feels guilty enough that his family paid his tuition for all four years, even with a scholarship covering nearly half of it. Berkeley is not cheap, and everyone in his family had treated the expense like an investment in a future he is currently failing to produce.
His phone buzzes beside the laptop.
Mãe: Any news from the interviews?
Ricardo turns the phone facedown.
Marcelo watches him do it.
“You know,” he says, “Starbucks has benefits at the very least.”
“Shut up.”
“And free coffee.” Marcelo brightens. “Hey, can I get extra cream when I visit you at work?”
“Shut the fuck up, I don’t even like their coffee!”
“You drank it every day for four years!”
“I was under extreme academic pressure!”
Marcelo nods solemnly. “And now you could provide that support to the next generation.”
Ricardo throws a crumpled receipt at him. It misses by nearly a foot.
Marcelo does not even look up from his phone. “Excellent hand-eye coordination. Put that on your resume too, Ricky.”
“Fuck you,” Ricardo mumbles, returning to LinkedIn.
**
He has reached the stage of unemployment where he no longer reads job titles before clicking them. He opens anything containing the words media, content, communications, or coordinator, which appears to mean a person who performs the duties of an entire marketing department for twenty-two dollars an hour. Whatever. A job is a job.
He applies to a skincare company.
He applies to a cryptocurrency startup and immediately regrets it. Fuck capitalism.
He applies to an organization whose website never clearly explains what the organization does but uses the word innovation fourteen times.
Then he sees a listing titled:
MEDIA MANAGER WANTED
There is no company name above it. No logo, either. The location is listed as Los Angeles, with remote work available at the employer’s discretion. The salary range is wide enough to be either life-changing or a typo.
Ricardo assumes it is a scam, but he opens it anyway.
We are seeking a highly online, culturally fluent Media Manager to develop and manage the personal brand of a rapidly growing male fitness and lifestyle creator.
“Highly online,” Ricardo reads aloud. “Finally, a skill I actually have.”
Marcelo makes an encouraging noise. Ricardo ignores him and scrolls down.
The first few responsibilities are normal enough. Develop platform-specific content. Monitor analytics. Edit photographs. Identify emerging trends. Manage Instagram, TikTok, and X.
Then:
Advise on posing, styling, framing, and visual presentation.
Still reasonable.
Increase engagement among both male and female audiences without alienating either demographic.
Oddly specific, but reasonable.
Must understand the subtle difference between appearing queer-friendly, queer-coded, and completely unavailable to women.
Ricardo stops scrolling.
“Marcelo.”
“Mm?”
“Come look at this.”
“Nah, I’m comfortable here.”
“Get your fat ass over here and look at this fucking job.”
Marcelo sighs as if Ricardo is the unreasonable one, then unfolds himself from the chair and leans over Ricardo’s shoulder.
Together, they continue reading.
Qualifications:
- Strong knowledge of Instagram, TikTok, online fan communities, thirst-trap strategy, and male audience psychology.
- Proficiency in Photoshop required.
- Must be comfortable providing direct feedback on photographs, clothing, body positioning, and overall sexual presentation.
- LGBTQ+ candidates strongly preferred.
- Discretion required.
And, on its own line at the bottom:
NO WEIRDOS!!!!
Marcelo is quiet for several seconds. Ricardo looks up at him, equally speechless.
“That means the employer is definitely a weirdo,” Marcelo says finally.
“Obviously.”
“Or this is pornography, like onlyfans, yanno.”
“It doesn’t say pornography though.”
“Do legitimate pornography jobs say pornography?”
“I don’t fucking know, why would I know?”
“Didn’t you take that class, that – um, Critical Approaches to Digital Intimacy?”
“That class was not about pornography!”
“What was it about then?”
Ricardo thinks about this carefully.
“Mostly pornography.”
Marcelo makes a small, triumphant sound and pulls the empty chair closer, sitting down beside him. “What kind of fitness creator needs a gay media manager?”
“It doesn’t say gay media manager.”
“It says gay preferred.”
“No, it said LGBTQ+ preferred. That does not only include gay, Marcelo. Let’s be inclusive –”
“Dude, you know what I mean,” Marcelo rolls his eyes.
Ricardo scrolls back to the salary, even the lowest number is nearly twice what he expected to earn straight out of college. That should make it look more suspicious. However, instead, it makes the listing appear strangely luminous against the screen.
Marcelo notices where he is looking.
“No, Ricky. Absolutely not. I don’t care how badly you don’t want to work at Starbucks—”
“Hey, I didn’t even say anything!”
“You’re thinking about applying, I know you!”
“I’m just looking!”
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” Marcelo insists. “Just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re immune to sexual harassment.”
“Yeah, but look at the salary, bro.”
“That is exactly what people say right before getting trafficked.”
Ricardo gives him a hopeful look. “Do you think human traffickers offer dental and vision?”
“I think they lie.” Marcelo sighs, “You’re such an idiot.”
**
Unfortunately, Marcelo does know him. He was the first person Ricardo came out to during freshman year, mostly because Ricardo had gotten drunk at a party, pointed across the room at a really, really hot guy from their sociology class, and announced, with tears in his eyes, that he wanted to marry him.
Marcelo had looked at the guy, looked back at Ricardo, and said, Yeah, man. I kind of figured.
They have not discussed the moment since, mostly because Ricardo has threatened to kill him every time he tries.
**
Ricardo clicks on the recruiter’s profile. There is no company page. The listing has been posted by a private recruiter whose profile contains only a set of initials—CR—no photograph, and exactly seven connections.
Ricardo stares at it.
“CR with seven connections,” he reads.
Marcelo snorts. “Yeah, CR7.”
There is a brief silence.
“Tis’ most likely a scam,” Ricardo says.
“It is definitely a scam.”
Yeah. It is definitely a scam.
Possibly a sex-trafficking operation, like Marcelo says. Or it could also be an influencer who has fired three assistants in six months and believes a confidentiality agreement can prevent labor lawsuits.
The latter sounds bad, but still slightly better than Starbucks.
Ricardo should close the tab. But instead, he keeps reading.
To apply, please submit your resume, portfolio, and a brief explanation of what is wrong with the client’s current Instagram account. Shortlisted candidates will receive access to the relevant profile.
“What is wrong with his Instagram?” Marcelo also reads. “They don’t even show you the account unless they like your resume. So you have to get selected before you can even insult him.”
“Apparently.”
Marcelo stares at the listing. “This is so fucking weird.”
“It’s just a little weird.”
“A powerful man is offering a suspicious amount of money to some gay college graduate so he can tell him why he doesn’t look fuckable enough.”
“You have made it sound significantly worse.”
“I made it sound exactly like what it is. You’re just trying very hard not to hear it.”
Ricardo returns to the application page.
LinkedIn informs him that he would be among the first twenty-five applicants. It also informs him that his profile is a strong match, presumably because the algorithm has finally found a use for both his degree and his sexuality.
His resume is already attached, and the application does not require a cover letter either.
There are only three screening questions.
Are you proficient in Adobe Photoshop?
Yes.
Are you comfortable working with sexually suggestive content?
Ricardo hesitates, then selects yes.
Do you personally identify as a member of the LGBTQ+ community?
“Yes,” Marcelo says over his shoulder.
“I know.”
“Just helping.”
Ricardo rolls his eyes and selects yes.
The blue Quick Apply button waits at the bottom of the window.
Ricardo glances toward the Starbucks tab, then back at the salary, then at the words No weirdos, which are becoming less reassuring every time he reads them.
“You know what,” Ricardo says. “This might still be better than working at fucking Starbucks.”
He clicks Quick Apply.
The confirmation appears immediately.
Your application has been submitted.
“That,” Marcelo says, “is going to ruin your fucking life.”
Ricardo closes the laptop.
“With my current employment prospects, I honestly don’t see how.”
**
His phone rings nine minutes later.