Connections
LinkedIn, the digital alleyway where everyone pretends their shoes aren’t soaked in rain and desperation.
They’re dug up from the bone yard, pieced together in the dark when the rest of the world is asleep. They cost something to tell.
If you want to keep the lights on in this place, if these words are worth more to you than a cheap cup of coffee, then step up. Don’t just be a ghost passing through. Become a member. Keep the ink flowing.
The rain had been falling for hours, the kind that makes the city smell like rusted ambition. I was nursing a cold coffee and a colder reputation when the notification hit my inbox like a cheap sucker punch.
“Someone viewed your profile.”
Yeah. Someone always does.
They look, they judge, they move on.
That’s the ecosystem.
LinkedIn calls it networking. I call it loitering with a tie on.
I scrolled through the feed; an endless parade of smiling headshots and hollow victories. Promotions are announced, like war medals. Thought leaders preach recycled wisdom with the confidence of prophets and the originality of photocopies. Everyone was “thrilled,” “honored,” and “excited.” Nobody ever “tired,” “broke,” or “one bad quarter away from oblivion.”
Then she appeared.
A recruiter.
Profile picture lit like a hostage video.
Headline: “Helping talent find their next opportunity.”
Translation: “I’ll ghost you the second you show weakness.”
She slid into my messages with the grace of a malfunctioning elevator.
Why LinkedIn sucks so much: "Because LinkedIn is what happens when corporate language, humblebrags, and the fear of being unemployed all get trapped in the same elevator."
“Hi Zoran, I came across your impressive background…”
Sure she did.
They always “come across” it.
Like a body floating in the canal.
She wanted to “connect.”
They all want to connect.
Connections are the currency here; cold, digital handshakes traded like cigarettes in a prison yard.
I clicked her profile.
Endorsements stacked like poker chips.
Skills nobody uses in real life.
“Strategic Synergy.”
“Cross-Functional Alignment.”
“Thought Leadership.”
I’ve met con artists with more honest résumés.
Still, I accepted.
Not because I trusted her.
But because in this city of curated smiles and algorithmic judgment, sometimes you shake hands with the devil just to stay warm.
The rain kept falling.
The feed kept scrolling.
And somewhere in the neon-lit wasteland of professional pretense, another notification blinked to life.
I think LinkedIn has just become an egocentric breeding zone like every other social media platform.
“Congrats on your work anniversary.”
I stared at it.
A whole year.
A whole damn year pretending I belonged in this digital masquerade.
I closed the laptop.
Lit a cigarette.
And wondered how many more endorsements it would take before someone endorsed me for what I was:
Surviving.