UNLINKING

Shortly after getting laid off, I entered the world of LinkedIn. I didn't know why, other than that it was what people did when they either just lost their job, or wanted to leave their current one. 

The whole idea, as I understood it, was that instead of bugging a handful of friends for help finding a new job, you could now "connect" with their friends.

If you were accosted by hundreds of strangers asking you for a job, you'd rightly get a little teed off. If you received hundreds of letters from said strangers, you'd demand a federal law to ban junk mail once and for all.

However, when "bugging people" is rebranded as "connecting to professionals", suddenly you're supposed to be on the fast-track to success. 

My inbox come to life.

Initially connecting to those who were also my email contacts, I soon bridged out to distant friends and even more distant relatives. Total strangers connected with me, however. I was always happy to accept, although it took me a while to realize that they were just using me to "meet" someone else. 

What a racket. Some professional matchmakers pull down a quarter-mill a year, and here I was doing it for free.

I'm still not sure how "connecting" would get anybody a job. "Hey, I noticed you're connected to somebody who's connected to somebody they don't know who's connected to somebody they don't know who's connected to somebody they don't know who's connected to somebody they don't know who's connected to somebody they don't know. Can I connect to you? PS: I don't know you." 

Thinking that somehow I was on the right side of karma, I accepted their requests. Over time, though, I would reply with an addendum to the effect of, "You know you're wasting your time, right? That LinkedIn might have been a good idea initially, but has become a Facebook for Yuppies? But go ahead, knock yourself out." 

Neither he nor I will ever get a job
as a digital artist.

Last week, I received yet another request from another internet transient. By now, I had had enough of digital panhandling, and decided to put an end to this whole request thing once and for all.

Unfortunately, I was on my smartphone at the time, and, in my haste to delete the request, I wound up sending requests to everyone in the galaxy that LinkedIn decided I should connect to. To put it mildly, Oops.

Pretty soon, I started getting strangers accepting my request, more out of pity than desire, including one from the company that had laid me off. Not for the first time in my life, I had become the person I hated. But, in my defense, it was strictly by accident.

It was time to rethink this whole LinkedIn nonsense. In the six years since I had joined, LinkedIn had given me nothing but a place to list my job history and links to my published essays. The few potential employers who had checked me out quickly slammed the door before I had a chance to say, "Can I get you some coffee? Maybe a Danish?" 

Today was the day to break this chain of madness. Not that LinkedIn makes it easy. After spending some time unsuccessfully to finding something that said, "Get me the hell outta here," I resorted to the Google search, "Quitting LinkedIn." Not surprisingly, the advice came from someone named "LinkedIn Man" rather than LinkedIn itself. 

Actually, this more accurately represents me.

After following the instructions, I found myself at the final, pull-the-trigger step. Oddly for a cautious guy like myself, I didn't have to think twice about it. One click, and kapow -- I had linked out. Now I knew how John Dillinger felt breaking out of jail.

But LinkedIn wasn't through with me yet. No sir. I immediately received an email stating, "We're sorry to see you go" -- just why, they didn't explain, since I was using their free service. They added, somewhat threateningly, "You may still receive invitations from LinkedIn members and groups." But that was why I wanted to leave! This was getting to be like the Hotel California.

Playing on people's understandable fears of being left out of the cool kids corner, the email also let me know that I could reactivate my account within 20 days. I don't see that happening, though. If I want panhandlers to get in touch with me, I can ride the subway. 

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