Rejected, Dejected

As my faithful readers are aware, I applied for a job with Queen Elizabeth on 25 January 2020. I showed y’all a copy of the application follow up letter here:

New Job Application

So, I’ve received an answer. I was very excited.

7 February 2020

Mr. Car, Big Red, Esq.

Dear Mr. Car, 

The Queen has asked me to reply to your lovely letter of 25 January. She told me to specifically mention how touched she was with your sincere and heartfelt interest in serving in Her household.

Unfortunately, she feels that she doesn’t have a position that would do justice to your extraordinary capabilities at this time (she’s really blowing smoke up your ass, mate — she doesn’t see it happening because, face it, you’re a bloody commoner, like President Trump’s deplorables — hate to lower the bloody boom on you, but no reason to get your hopes up, old boy).

The entire package from your personal vehicle ownership, your skill as a pilot (she told me to tell you she has always wanted to learn to fly a small airplane), your steady housing arrangement, the health insurance, and your command of American English, British English (we call this the mother tongue), the Australian English, and the New Zealand English (I confess, I cannot understand that bunch in South Africa either.) and your military experience is extraordinarily attractive and it was a very hard decision to make.

Unfortunately, there is a centuries old tradition of being a blood relative of the Queen to undertake the royal duties you mentioned you might stand in for for one of the lads.

She understood exactly what you were saying as it relates to the Princes Andrew and Charles. Gave you very high marks for diplomacy.

Prince Harry and the American girl have gone off the deep end. Now, they’re your country’s problem.

Prince William and his Princess Kate — what a charmer and so deferential to the Queen — are spitting out royal offspring at an encouraging rate, so the Queen thought it the better play to depend on this protocol and tradition.

Oh, I forgot to mention your degrees. Most impressive. Of course, the Royal Family isn’t wrapped around the axle (get it, you’re a bloody car and all that?) as it relates to educational achievement. She said to tell you she’s perfectly happy that Andrew and Charles can read and write.

There is one spark of encouragement that I can extend.

Prince Philip says he would like to “hook up” with you when next you are in London. Wants to “chase skirts” with you — oh, my goodness — and let you drive his Land Rover. Keeps laying the poor thing down in ditches. Says, “Tell the Son-of-a-Bitch-Red-Car he can drive and not to tell Elizabeth.” I gave him your contact info.

We thought the compensation arrangement was eminently fair.

So, Mr. Car, Big Red, I wish I had more encouraging news. It was always a long shot, you being a Colonial and all. Lizzie is still steamed over that American Revolution thing.

Be well, my dear friend.

With my most heartfelt desires for your continued prosperity, I am

Yours truly,

For the Queen of England

The Queens Secretary, Butch