Hot Pockets: They Just Don’t Like You.(A Tale of Two Corporations)

FYI — the bigwigs? They set you up to fight each other. Lion versus gazelle. It’s sport to them. And — just so you know — the game is rigged. So you lose. Every time.

Maybe it’s the Charlie Brown in me. Maybe it’s growing up in a place that still believes in truth — Jersey truth. Now, don’t get me wrong. There are bad people in Jersey. But at least you know who your friends are. California? They don’t even pick up their family from the airport. They don’t bring diapers to baby showers. They’ll ghost you, then send a 🙏 when you post about surgery.

And I love California. I really do. That’s why it was the best of times and the worst of times.

I’m not here to teach a lesson. I’m here to tell you a story.

A Tale of Two Corporations.Or maybe just one: mine.

The names change. The games don’t.

Hey, how are you doing today? Your day going okay? Mine’s… fine. Not great.Another rejection. I gotta tell you — this one hurt. Usually, I can brush it off. I know the corporate rat race. I’ve run the thing. Hell, if you’ve watched Succession, you know it too, although real life’s rarely that well-acted or Shakespearean. But damn if I don’t still love Macbeth. Even if you or I never read it, you feel it. Toil and Trouble, The knives. The blood-stained hands.

Let’s have a fireside chat, shall we?

Hang on. Let me turn on my glass fireplace. Come on over — we’ll have a mocktail. It’s still early. Let’s pretend we’re not aging out of a system that can’t spell empathy.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I’m a Jersey girl. First-generation Irish. No BS.

I moved to Orange County because I wanted to make movies, but I rejected the Hollywood lifestyle. Too phony. Too glossy. Too much pretending, not enough truth. (Yes. Smile if you must. I’m an oxymoron.)

I used my smarts and worked my way up to an executive HR position in that Newport Beach crowd. I mean… It’s a whole ecosystem.CEOs, yacht people, real estate wolves — and the parasites who follow them around like they’re trying to evolve into human wallets.

What they liked about me — the CEOs, anyway — was the Jersey in me. Straight talk.

Loyalty. Pattern recognition.

But what didn’t they like? That I didn’t know how to play small. That I knew where the bodies were buried — and could do the math in my head. Most importantly, I mean what I say and say what I mean.

People ask me all the time about jobs, which is ironic, because I get people jobs. Promotions. Salary bumps. New careers. I’m a whisperer for other people’s professional success.

But for myself?

Let me tell you a story.

About 15 years ago, a recruiter friend asked me to help her out — go on an interview for a client she was trying to impress. The guy who invented Hot Pockets.Yes, that Hot Pocket. This is a true story — just like the Sundance one.

So I go.

It’s the penthouse floor of the tallest building in Fashion Island. The view? Absurd.The vibe? Peak Orange County executive. It’s a 45-minute interview. I nailed it. Understood the whole waterfall of companies, spoke their language, connected dots they didn’t even know were dots . And I looked fabulous, I might add — dressed for the room, sharp as hell.

I didn’t get the job.

The recruiter called as I was driving down PCH in my BMW convertible. She said, “It’s a pass.”

Then she said the real part:

“They just don’t like you. They think you’re more than qualified… but they don’t like you.”

And I thought — Really? The man who invented a frozen meat tube that explodes in microwaves doesn’t like me? That’s kind of a compliment.

So take it from me: Sometimes it’s not about your résumé. Or your performance. Sometimes, they just don’t like you.

Let me tell you something else — the irony in all this.

Because I’m from Jersey? I keep confidences. I know where the bodies are buried — and I’m not just talking about executives. Staff pull a lot of monkey business, too. Entire org charts are worth.

Everyone’s a rat these days — but not me. People from Jersey, we ain’t rats. And we don’t brand grifts as job offers.

So, to the man who invented Hot Pockets?

I don’t like you either.

And to this new rejection — this feel-good startup wrapped in values and time-zone excuses?

Please be Jersey-coded. Say what you mean and mean what you say.

If you’re gonna say you want to “make a dent in the universe,” mean it.

Make sure it’s a positive dent. Because you made a dent in my faith in humanity.

You dressed up exploitation as opportunity. You sold hope like it was an air freshener for a system that still stinks. You’re just another grift.

And yeah — I’ve got sour grapes. Not because I didn’t get the job — but because I was conned.

At least Hot Pockets were honest. They never pretended to be nourishment.

Thanks for reading!