A friend of mine just had a short story rejected by the New Yorker (it’s always a wonderful feeling, he once said, to be “spurned by the best.”) He continues:
Somebody asked me why I was consoled that New Yorker took so long to reject my story and I had to explain the delusions we live under–how it makes me think they agonized over the decision and hesitated, circulating it around the office and holding passionate meetings, taking it to the trustees and the whole board before, regretfully, sending me a form note. And how even now, whispered in hallways, some are sniping that they did the wrong thing.
See also my piece on truthful rejection slips.