Orange Cheeto Undermines Everyone’s Remote Job
January 22, 2025 Edit: Just got the letter that they have rescinded the offer.
Rescinding Job Offer for Harry Negron Pagan:
Dear Harry Negron Pagan,
We regret to inform you, due to the Federal Civilian Hiring Freeze, we must rescind our offer of employment with the United States Patent and Trademark Office.
We greatly appreciate the time and effort you invested in the hiring process. We sincerely apologize.
Thank you for your understanding.
I’ve been battling an illness for two years now — some of the symptoms include a vicious mix of fatigue, dizziness, muscle weakness, and random tachycardia. Being an educator became impossible because I couldn’t stand or move around without feeling like I’d faint at any moment.
So, for about a year, I applied to every work-from-home position I stumbled across. It would be perfect: I’d stay productive while not wrecking my health and also spend time with my four kids. I never thought I’d actually get a bite, but then the United States Patent and Trademark Office extended a GS-13 offer at nearly $93k per year — fully remote, no less. Naturally, I freaked out (in a good way).
Next thing I know, Trump wins the election. Sure, I rooted for Kamala Harris, but the Democrats messed up big-time with young white males, so we got orange Cheeto 2.0. Then he named Elon Musk — who despises remote work — for some government efficiency role whose acronym is DOGE (lol). Harmless, right?
Inauguration day arrives, January 20, 2025, and guess what dear Mr. Trump’s first executive order is? Forcing federal employees back to the office. Obviously, Musk’s entire anti-remote philosophy had zero bearing on that decision. /end_sarcasm. Musk even had the nerve to say it’d help trim the federal workforce, since folks would just quit rather than relocate.
Under normal circumstances, I might be okay working in person, except for that pesky part where my home station is Puerto Rico — miles from any USPTO hub. I’d have to uproot everything and drag my fatigued body to D.C. or Virginia, possibly without my family. It’s like the administration is a pair of clowns in a single tiny car — entertaining from afar, until you realize it’s your life they’re driving around.
I’m waiting to hear if I still have a job or if I’ll have to spend half my day walking around an auditorium, feeling like a fainting goat on steroids (literally). So far, the only person who seems certain about my future is the orange Cheeto himself — and he’s not exactly handing out comforting details.
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