We 39;re Sorry We Are Unable To Continue With Your Activation At This Time

[Jackie Bullinger]

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I received a call yesterday that I let go straight to voicemail. It was from a company I had been interviewing with for several weeks, and I was expecting either a rejection email or a phone call informing me of next steps moving forward. I looked at the unopened voicemail like a gift that I was waiting all afternoon to unwrap.

Eventually I got a coffee, got comfy, and listened to the inevitable good news. Instead it was the HR recruiter asking me to call her. Even better, I'd get to make arrangements on the phone. Surprisingly, though, when I called her I was informed that "unfortunately" my application was no longer being considered.

But was a call against protocol? What's the alternative? Is a form email after weeks (or in some cases, months) better than a personalized rejection? And if so, does the actual language within make any difference on how crummy it feels to be rejected?

To find out I collected the action statements from the last batch of rejection emails I've received over time. When you scrub away the bromides of thanking the applicant for her resume, explaining how impressed the company is with her experience, and promising to be in touch should another job come up (I've never, ever received such follow-up in 20yrs of jobs), there's typically just one sentence laying out the cold, hard truth: you've been rejected.

By far the most popular sentiment utilized in rejection emails is the nebulous specter of "fit," the be-all-end-all to hiring decisions worldwide. I'm convinced that the majority of people (approximately 100%) in charge of hiring don't do enough diligence to comprehensively define their job needs, learn about their candidates, and see potential instead of past experience only. Instead, they "know it when they see it" AKA look for "fit."

To be honest, it's hard to argue against fit. If there's a moral, humane way to reject someone it's more than likely on the merits of fit. That being said, such rejections should be followed up (upon request) with specific reasons why there wasn't a fit (after all I once lost a job because I was told I wasn't a good "fit" AKA "we need an excuse to shed money off our team's budget.")

Many rejection letters note how unfortunate it is that an applicant is being rejected. It's never quite clear if it's more unfortunate for the company or the applicant, but it's clear that the inclusion of the term is meant to imbue some human sentiment akin to empathy within the stark constraints of boilerplate language:

Unfortunately's sibling is "regret," the company's admission that, hey, we really don't want to have to do this, but it's our job. We truly regret having to carry out this part of our jobs, but here it is:

It's worth noting that each instance of regret I received in rejection was prefaced by an assurance that the company carefully considered my materials. This clause is undoubtedly included to show the applicant that due process was carried out, and that the applicant is being rejected only after her materials were analyzed and compared to the job description in question. Perhaps it's because of this process (and applicants are led to believe, the hours spent conducting it) that the regret is meant to carry more weight.

Sometimes a rejection notice doesn't even officially reject an applicant so much as tell her that there's no longer a job to apply to. It was all in illusion the email seems to imply, and if someone else got in before the job was "closed" it was no doubt only due to some Indiana Jones style last minute scramble (don't forget your hat!)

Oddly, hearing that a position has "closed" somehow always makes me feel better. For me it really is a "regretful" and "unfortunate" action, since I always assume that they were carefully reviewing my materials--just on the cusp of calling me in--before funding was cut or the company went under. The role has closed, it's nobody's fault, we're all quite torn up about it.

My true favorite rejections, though, fall into two camps: ones that are so direct, and so cavalier, that you almost have to respect their audacity (or arrogance); and ones that are so passive that it seems like even they don't know how the decision was made: it just sort of happened. Passive and/or aggressive rejections are two sides of the same blunt coin, flipped to an applicant as consolation bus fair. Don't spend it all in one place, kid.

The statement above is actually muted a bit by the inclusion of "sorry." But make no mistake, this is a blatant rejection. Also, considering that there were none of the typical bromides (e.g. you're great, we'll be in touch, etc.) accompanying this statement, they may as well just have emailed "No, thanks."

These rejections point to mysterious forces of nature that are preventing them from doing what they would otherwise like to do (namely, hire the applicant.) "We have concluded that we cannot proceed" sounds like an announcement made by a gate agent after a flight has been delayed for hours only to finally be cancelled. While "we won't be able to continue" is verbatim what I've repeated to my wife after our daughters have thrown yet another tantrum on the way to the playground. Honey, I know we've only gone two blocks, but I won't be able to continue.

There are no easy answers to rejecting candidates. Especially for roles that receive hundreds (if not thousands) of applications, there's little more that can be done than run the resumes through an AI-fueled database and cross your fingers that only the right candidates pop out. And rejection sucks no matter how you cut it, even if for every qualified candidate there are 10 who are unqualified: they all get the same email.

My only hope for HR managers, and hiring managers, worldwide is that rejection can be handled with speed and an empathy commensurate to the amount of time the applicant has put into her application and/or interviews. A pray-and-spray resume drop on a search site deserves a lot less attention than a candidate who has gone through multiple rounds of phone calls and in-person interviews.

But make no mistake: the language we use matters, and language--more than anything else, including "fit"--is a reflection of culture. Unlike the passive rejections highlighted above, rejection letters don't just happen. They are written and approved. It would be my hope that the wording that goes into any rejection letter receives the same amount of attention and care that an initial job notice does. Given, though, that even many job calls can be haphazardly cobbled together (asking for everything and nothing simultaneously), perhaps that's not asking a whole lot.

Still, given that many jobs don't ever write anything after a rejection, any language--as long as it's direct and supportive--is better than none at all. Rejection sucks, but it's also the first step toward eventual acceptance.

Chris Gerben is a digital strategist and content producer. Though he's a reluctant collector of rejection statements, he'd much rather receive a job offer. Want to hire him? Let's talk in the first person!

I can not access my television or Internet packages online - again. Once upon a time I had this problem, got a huge phone run around (spent many hours on the phone) because no one that a customer could talk to was actually responsible for the problem. I just kept getting transferred between the two same departments even after pleading with the CSR that I've already talked to someone in the other department - SIX TIMES. After an online chat (my last resort) someone did manage to help me and fix the account.

"We're sorry. We are experiencing a temporary problem and can't continue your order at this time. Please try again later. Or, if you need immediate assistance, you can call your Verizon local business office."

"Please contact the Verizon Local Business Office. We're sorry, we are unable to continue your order at this time. Please try again later or contact your local Verizon office for assistance. 1 800 - VERIZON (1 800 - 837 - 4966)"

Sorry you are having difficulty. An agent with access to your account will reach out to you directly (by email, private message in the Forums and/or the billing telephone number on your Verizon account) for more information or to help you resolve your issue.

I've been trying to get a double play bundle and keep getting the we're sorry, we are unable to conintue your order at this time as well. I called and spoke to someone and said what budnle I wanted. Well, of course, the special pricing is just for online orders that I can't get on line because of the sorry message. So , I signed up. But after I hung up, I was thinking she quoted me for a different bundle. so, I contacted via chat and was told there was no order placed. So I ordered the package I wanted and was told that my account would be changed by the end of the day. (friday, march 22) Well, here it is, the next day, and I still have no caller id, call waiting, etc on my phone and my account is still not updated on-line. Really, how long does it take for my account to be updated?

In hindsight, what happened over the next several weeks should have been our alert. The pain after this surgery grew worse instead of better. In just under 6 weeks I lost 22 pounds. I had chills and extreme pain after I ate and often ran a low grade fever. My doctor dismissed my complaints and told me it would take more time for my intestines to heal. I had no energy to argue.

As I sat in my hospital bed those next few days, my belly began to swell. The nausea could no longer be contained and a nasogastric intubation (NG) tube had to be inserted to remove pressure and bile from my stomach. By day 5, my abdomen was so distended that I looked like I was in my third trimester. I was weak and in pain. The doses of morphine did nothing. Finally, a test was ordered. The radiologist recommend further study as something was not right, but my doctor declined. The nurses were helpless. That evening my vitals told the story. My heart rate fluctuated between 150-160 bpm, my blood pressure rapidly dropped. Nurses called the doctor when my BP hit 89/53. By 6 AM on March 13, my BP had dipped to 63/51, and I was finally transferred to the intensive care unit (ICU).

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