From time to time here in the Abyss we receive unsolicited manuscripts. I want to assure the loyal reader that Mrs. Abyss was not coached in any way, shape or form by yours truly and came up with the following missive completely on her own. She did steal my cow orker bit, though. -Ed.
This is a true account of one girl’s departure from the fiery pit of Hell known as… work. She had the courage to claw her way out but not before facing four long years of pain, suffering, under-appreciation, long hours, criticisms, crawling from under the bus, anger, hatred, hysterical laughter and gut-wrenching tears.
But alas she escaped, bloodied and with broken fingernails, scars across her back, evil images burned in her mind, clothes dirty and torn… but with a smile on her face. A smile of freedom.
I gave a three-week notice. I’m a sicko.
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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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A recap of Day 5 action including tribe ZeitGuru’s first reward challenge.
Only one person in the tribe? At last a team I can get down with.
After five days of living on absolutely nothing but water, plain beans, rice, coconut, banana, pineapple and kiwi, I was really looking forward to my first reward challenge.
What would be the reward? Perhaps salt? Oh yeah, that would rock my world. Coffee or tea? Even without sugar that would turn my entire existence upside down.
It’s only been five days.
Whatever the reward, I knew getting it wouldn’t be easy. My wife as Survivor Host, the Probst with the Most, would surely be out to get me. She doesn’t mess around.
On that score, at least, I would not be disappointed.
I’d be remiss in my duties as Chief Bellyacher if I failed to address the recent stylish resignation of former Goldman Sachs executive Greg Smith.
I will not be remiss in my duties!
With one letter, Mr. Smith achieved hero cult status here in the Abyss and came within a hair’s breadth of dethroning Rob Corddry as being “chiseled from the clay of the Gods.” (Don’t worry, though. Corddry weathered the storm.)
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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.
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. Here’s a little run down on some official Last Week goodness:
Late last week, one of my fellow employees, recently code named The Waffler, had finally had enough. Like me, his big beefs with the job revolved around things like nanomanagement and how employees are treated.
A few weeks back The Waffler had been put on notice by management. He had to improve or he’d be fired. Like me he’s been with the company for over five years, and, like me, the boss always says that he’s “family.”
Late one afternoon he received an email with an enormous list of tasks and was told, “These must all be completed today.”
So he stayed late and kept working while the rest of us clocked out and went home.
Ever the curious one, I waited until after payday and kindly inquired if he had been paid for working late.
“Nope,” he replied. Ah! Just like what they’ve done to me, the company illegally modified his time card.
“Did they offer you any time off to compensate?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about that.” And, unless I miss my guess, he never will. The company just doesn’t pay overtime and not once in my five and one-half years was I ever comped any time no matter how many freebie hours I put in.
A few more shitty things happened and finally The Waffler had had enough. Early one morning he requested a meeting with the boss. “I’m going to quit,” he confided in me as I greeted him that morning.
I was aglow with anticipation and excitement. “This is gonna be good,” I thought. Of course, my negative side was whispering in my ear, “Get over it. It ain’t gonna happen.”
The closed-door meeting began and we all clearly heard the boss through the paper-thin walls. “I want to start by apologizing to you.” Uh oh. Not a good sign. I knew then he wouldn’t quit.
The meeting lasted two and one-half hours and along the way morphed into the boss telling The Waffler the myriad of ways that he sucks and had better improve. Epic fail.
Two days ago he was reprimanded for not saying “thank you” to the boss regarding something said in chat and for not saying “I’m sorry” after making a mistake.
I’m still amazed how the boss was able to completely turn The Waffler around from his decision to quit to taking abuse again.
To celebrate my last day of work, the boss decided today would be “crazy hat day.” I walked in and everyone was wearing stupid hats. I knew something was up!
I was forced to pick a hat. Since the employee’s have been joking about it being Christmas for me all week long, I picked the Santa hat.
After arriving at work I learned that the company was buying me lunch to say goodbye. Of course I was standing there stupidly holding in my hands the lunch I had brought in since no one bothered to tell me. If I had known I could have been spared from bringing in my lunch. That would have been convenient. And, like always, the person of honor is never asked anything about what they’d actually like to have for lunch. Management can’t allow employees to make any decisions no matter what. “Here! Eat this shit that we bought. We ordered for you whether you like it or not. Enjoy. That’s an order. Comply.”
You’re never supposed to leave a man behind, but today I selfishly ran for cover leaving three of my cohorts deep in the shit. I doubt I’m going to be awarded the Medal of Honor for that.
In closing, here are the two final employee whiteboards from my last week on the job.