The Fire That Burns

"We're hiring."

Those two words can light a fire of hope in you, especially when you've been on the hunt for what feels like forever. You see the post, you check the qualifications—finally, something you're actually a good fit for. Maybe even excited about. You polish your resume (again), write a thoughtful cover letter (again), and start preparing yourself mentally. When they call or email to schedule the interview, your heart flutters a little. This could be it.

But then it happens.

"The startup fee is only $200/$500/$2000."

"You need to invest in your future."

"You are fantastic and would do great in this role. Here is a payment link to get started."

And just like that, the illusion is shattered. The opportunity you thought was your breakthrough turns out to be another "buy in to work" trap in disguise.

Remote jobs are not for the faint of heart—at least, not the process of trying to get one. Over the last two weeks alone, I’ve gone through nine interviews. That’s nine times I got my hopes up. Nine times I reviewed the company, practiced answers, showed up early, stayed enthusiastic. I’m genuinely grateful for each conversation, truly. But if I’m being honest—I’m also disappointed. Severely.

There’s something about that initial buzz of interest, that feeling of being seen, of finally being a fit, that convinces you, "Yes, this is the one." And then, just when you feel that small sliver of confidence forming, you’re blindsided by a chair to the face—with a brick tied to it, just for good measure.

Out of the nine interviews, three were clearly sketchy right off the bat. Once I did a quick search and saw their model involved "buying in" to start working, I canceled those immediately. No thank you. The remaining six were much more deceptive. These companies were polished. They had clean websites, sharp branding, and convincing staff. During the interviews, I even asked directly—multiple times—about any financial investment or startup costs. I was told no, led in circles, and given the runaround until the final minutes of the Zoom call, when suddenly, boom: surprise fee. A sales pitch disguised as an offer.

And still, people say, “Your generation just doesn’t want to work.” That couldn’t be further from the truth. I have never wanted to work harder.

Before even shifting to remote job hunting—back when my car was running—I applied to over 200 jobs in a single month, all within a 100-mile radius. Entry-level, fast food, retail, you name it. I updated my resume countless times. Rewrote cover letters. Optimized LinkedIn. Reached out in forums and Facebook groups. Nothing.

Now I cry multiple times a day and then wipe my face and start searching again. I'm trying to make ends meet. Trying to get even just one real foot in the door.

Video games on my phone have been a welcome escape from the stress and noise, but reality is knocking louder every day. The bills don’t care. The collectors don’t care. They’ve become a team, a hostile little squad that shows up daily to remind me what’s at stake. And when you finally work up the nerve to ask for help, family gives you a well-meaning but hollow, “Just keep trying.” Employers end your last email exchange with a dry, “Good luck in your search.”

It’s an incredibly broken system—one that preys on the desperate, punishes the persistent, and discourages the hopeful.

I’m not looking for a handout. I’m just looking for a chance. A real one. One that doesn't require a credit card to apply. One that values the grind I’ve already survived to get here.

Until then, I’ll keep showing up. Crying, yes. But applying, still.

Because quitting isn’t an option—and honestly, neither is being scammed.