A reader writes:

I am among the legions of job seekers. With the intent of exploring every option, I went to a LA Career fair expecting the less appealing younger sister of the boring corporate recruitment fairs they had when I graduated UCB. Wrong. Worse. Much, much worse. PBS was covering it, that's how bad it was. I started a different blog just to emote anonymously into thin air about it because I would never tell anyone I knew that I actually went to such a gathering. It will depress me to write about it again, so pardon the link:

Wow. I knew it wouldn't be good, but what shit was that? [...] Do you want to sell yuppie tupperware? Then this is for you. Would you like to explore opportunities selling crap jewelry, beauty products, credit card swiper systems - being paid only when you get a client? Then this is for you.

Are you interested in sweating to line up clients and recruits in a multi-level marketing finance scheme for a company that has incurred fines from the National Association of Security Dealers for fraud and misconduct? Then this is for you. Make sure you have a firm handshake, bright smile, dress appropriately, and have your résumé in order!!!

Welcome to the LA Career Fair at the Radisson where it costs $10 for parking in a lot so cramped that even though the parking is valet you'll still be worried your car will get dinged. I opted for a nearby free park at $13.15 for 2.5 hours.

The line to sign in stretched across the upper lobby and down the hall to the end of a very cramped corridor with no air conditioning. People in business attire fanned themselves with their brochures and résumés. A KCET reporter from SoCal Connected scurried around looking for a head of household so her network could pimp stories of family desperation to inflame pathos for media consumption. When most of the people in line informed her they were single, she moved on. Everywhere you went, there was someone with a huge lens trained on you.

We want to hear what you think about this article. Submit a letter to the editor or write to letters@theatlantic.com.