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It's official. I am out of The Shit Hole, Galactic Empire Designation Death Star One.
I have done punched that clock for the last time.
Yah, me!
To think I've been blogging about hating my job for well over a year now. I never imagined this day could actually come.
I don't really have a lot to say about it right now.
“Are you not intertwined?” shouted the gladiator. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “What we do at our job resignates in eternity.”
Yeah, it does feel that way sometimes. Luckily my craft doesn’t rely too heavily on proper grammar and fancy so-called “dictionary” words. Hey, just like my blog.
Yes, I’ve called this mandatory staff meeting to discuss resignation origami. (See inset picture.) In the spirit of multitasking this is also my ode to the Pope. To ensure professionalism at all times I hired Phil Mickelson as a consultant.
My research indicates that when it comes to quitting a job there are a few factors that are (allegedly) paramount:
In other words, try to hold yourself to a standard higher than your employer ever showed you. Shit always flows downhill. Apparently, when quitting, the reverse is also true. Gold nuggets are supposed to defy gravity.
Ugh.
But, even so, behold the awesome power of a properly wielded Letter of Resignation (LoR) which automatically confers +7 intelligence and enhanced saving rolls.
More of my observations on this bit of arcane power will magically appear after the jump.
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I once quit a job over a staff meeting. True story. I’m sure it’s documented here on the blog somewhere, but long story short, they made us on the 6am crew stick around for a 5pm meeting. I asked, “Is it important?” Our managers assured us it was. “You have to be there,” they said.
The meeting started and the first item of business was rolling out birthday cake for our safety director. At 5-fucking-o-clock. It’s not like most of us would be consuming dinner any time soon.
Then, for the icing on the cake, the rest of the hour was consumed by our managers reading memos to us. Line-by-line. Word-by-word. Like we were in kindergarten or something. Memos that had previously been delivered to our inboxes. Memos I had already read on my very own. It was worse than an insult to our intelligence. It was calling us babies.
After the meeting I opted to go back to my desk rather than heading straight home. I sat there and wrote out a memorandum of my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a classic piece of Americana called the letter of resignation. I plopped that puppy on my manager’s desk and then called it day.
Good times.
In another place and another time there was another staff meeting. This one involved the quintessential management tool known as the employee survey.
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Hello, 80-20, my old friend. You still remember me.
Unless you’re a freak, you’ve spent a good portion of time at your current job daydreaming about how you’ll quit.
Not if or when. But how.
It is inevitable. It is unavoidable. It is your destiny.
Quitting is the winning.
–Tom B. Taker
I’m not sure about the point of this exercise, though. It’s not like I’ve ever actually done any of the things I’ve imagined. And, trust me on this, I’ve imagined quite a bit.
Worse, when quittin’ time invariably does roll around, I get all squeamish and nervous and icky and mealymouthed. I don’t enjoy confrontation. Hey! I just had an idea. Is it possible to call in sick for quitting? Now that’s some truly officer thinking.
My wife has been thinking about quitting. (News flash.) This morning she floated the idea about bringing her drumming group in with her to provide accompaniment for the experience. I had to admit that was a fine idea. Beat those drums of war, baby.
Now the wheels in my head are turning. And I want to know:
What exciting plans have you made for how you’ll quit? Even if you’re like me and a big, big chicken, at least you can share here, in the safety of pure negativity, what you would do if you had the guts.
How would you do it? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.
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I give the orders around here.
This post is dedicated to The Boss whoever it* may be. Ed.
It happened on a work day. (Holy fuck. Is that the scariest opening ever or what?)
It was the arrival of a package that prompted the fun. The boss stopped everything he was doing. Ooh, a package had arrived.
Must. Open. Now.
His fleshy, grubby and unwashed digits picked up the box and it rotated in his massive NFL-style steroid-induced mitts. A piece of gooey food substance jiggled in his beard as he moved.
“Oh look,” he said. “I got something for you.”
Inside? You guessed it. New business cards for my department, the department where he always claimed I was in charge and had autonomy.
The cards were emblazoned with his name. Not mine. And underneath, the business title was printed. “Manager.”
Indeed.
Some time later he indicated with an explosion of gas that he had a “task” for me.
All hail the task!
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“Company.”
The dictionary defines the word as “a commercial business.”
Wikipedia, as usual, is a bit more verbose:
“A company is an association or collection of individuals, people or “warm-bodies” or else contrived “legal persons” (or a mixture of both). Company members share a common purpose and unite in order to focus their various talents and organize their collectively available skills or resources to achieve specific, declared goals. Companies take various forms such as [a] … [b]usiness entity with an aim of gaining a profit.”
Source: Wikipedia – Company
“Warm bodies?” Holy shit. Wikipedia nails it. Again!
The business manager stormed into the meeting and saw a lot of empty chairs. “God damn it,” he bellowed. “Get me more warm bodies in here!”
Most of us born and bred in the United States wholly swallow – hook, line and sinker – the premise that a company is an organization comprised of human beings with the shared goal of making money, i.e., acquiring profit.
My purpose here today is debate the other point of view, that this concept we’ve so fully accepted is complete and utter horseshit.
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We got a regurgitation situation
All across the Abyssian nation
The hot new trend on this blog is to scritch up a piece of yesteryear and drag it back into the light of day. Today’s bit of regurgitated kibble comes courtesy of the Abyss “way back” archives. In fact, this was the seventh post I ever wrote. It comes back to the empty nest all the way from September 2009, also known as Abyss Launch Month.
Back then I documented my efforts (in vain) to get away from crappy e-commerce job #2. I was out schlepping around and subjecting myself to the ultimate in extreme humiliation: Going into a place of business and asking for an application form like Oliver groveling for a little extra gruel. And then filling out their endless invasive and offensive forms until your hand shrivels up into a hook hand. A hook hand!!!
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