||Fire Me You F@#king Prick
by Jarred S. Katz
We've all been there, working for that passive-aggressive sexually-repressed mother fucking glob of vaginal yogurt who, in a perfect world, could be stabbed in his pee-hole without consequence. Unfortunately, we live in a police state with “rules” and “order” and “Kate Hudson.”
I had been working for Dick in his shitty personal injury office for a year when I decided that I could stomach it no longer. I’m not sure of the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, but figure it was around the time Dick told me that I have no right to be offended by comments he makes about the Holocaust because I wasn’t there, and if it made me feel better, I could make comments about Mussolini and he, as an Italian man, wouldn’t be insulted.
The unemployment laws in my state seemed fairly cut and dry. If I quit my job without a reason that fit tidily into one of their stupid little boxes, I wouldn’t be eligible for unemployment, but if I was fired, I could sit on my ass watching repeats of The Golden Girls for months on end while raking in the big bucks and pretending to look for new work. God Bless America. Therefore, I devised a plan to drive Dick to a point where he’d have no choice but to fire me.
Mock your employer’s horrible misfortunes.
It was my four hundredth and first day working for Dick when I was handed the perfect opportunity to put my plan into action.
Dick’s computer had been making some God-awful churning sounds for a week or so. Therefore, I recommended that he purchase some blank CDs to back up the system. He told me that he didn’t know what the hell those were and that I should go to the store and buy them myself. Dick oozed charm like a barren fetus ejected children.
When the computer crashed a week later, Dick accused me of being responsible, with the sole intention of sabotaging his business. This seemed like as good a last day of work as any, so I kindly informed him that had he not been so cheap and spent a mere handful of dollar bills on a blank CD like I recommended, he wouldn’t have lost his life’s work. I tried to assuage his wrath by adding that his work wasn’t that spectacular in the first place, and this might be a great new beginning for him. I concluded my performance with a yawned “Anyhoo, them’s the breaks.”
Instead of canning me right there on the spot, he stomped out and didn’t return for the rest of the day. Although I hadn’t been fired yet, it couldn’t be long now, right?
Gussy up the office in a way that humiliates the employer.
Fortune was smiling upon me the day I found a picture of a man with the same name as my employer on the Internet. This gentleman’s money-shot photo consisted of the 400-pound wrestler flexing in a bikini while grunting as if squeezing the world’s most stubborn brown nugget from his cake hole. His name sat below the picture in big block letters. Ah, sometimes life is too easy.
It seemed selfish to hide this gorgeous photograph from the rest of the suite, so I hung it up in the kitchen. After all, I had a duty to do my part to spruce up the most trafficked area of my office. When Dick saw his twin, he tore the photo down and muttered that he looks better in a bikini. There went lunch.
For weeks, people in the office would grunt and flex every time he walked by. He accused me of turning the staff against him. I accused him of mixing me up with his personality.
Exploit your mentally-imbalanced
employer’s psychiatric weaknesses.
Dick insists that he only needs one meal a day and according to his yarns, it’s usually ribs at two in the morning with a hot stripper (read: fat hooker). He believes the other lawyers in the office are conspiring to overthrow his sad little kingdom, which is basically comprised of two minor fender benders and a woman who was struck on the head by an apple that fell off a tree in her own yard. And he thinks someone is stealing his Post-it notes and now keeps them under lock-and-key, requiring a written request in order to release a packet into another’s care. Yes, my friends. Dick is a bona fide nutcase.
One of Dick’s greatest mental defects involves his fear of germs. What perfect timing when I got the worst cold of my life. As if it couldn’t get any better, this was at the height of the SARS scare. Score!
I came into his office, told him that my roommate just got back from China and proceeded to cough and hack and gag to varying degrees. Not one to avoid extremes, I wiped my nose on a file and handed it to him. Dick held one hand over his mouth while spraying air freshener with the other hand, barely missing my eye. How rude, right? Through the mouth-hand, he barked that if I ever coughed in his office again, I’m fired.
I didn’t want to overdo it so I only coughed about thirty more times. He just sat there staring a hole through me, the hairier hand still blanketing his fat ugly mouth. Before making my exit, I recommended that he drink less coffee as he seems very agitated as of late.
A Realization: My Attempts to Get Fired are Failing Miserably
Damn, this isn’t working as well as I’d hoped. Who the hell would still have his job after this sort of behavior? Then I figured it out. If Dick fired me, he’d have to pay a portion of whatever money I got from unemployment out of his own pocket and Dick was the cheapest fuck I’d ever met. Of course. He was hoping I’d quit first and then he could more easily challenge my request. Well, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. I would simply have to raise the stakes.
Have scones with the woman who is suing your employer.
The best day ever was the day that the woman who had the position before me sued him for sexual harassment, hostile work environment, and my favorite, throwing away a stapler she had apparently injured herself on. According to her suit, she contracted carpal tunnel syndrome after Dick instructed her to staple a particularly stubborn stack of papers, and when she brought her injury to Dick’s attention, the stapler mysteriously disappeared, and this caused her difficulties in getting her workers’ compensation.
Dick loved to sporadically appear at my desk and tell me what happened with the stapler. Each time, the story changed but each time, it made him look a little better. By the end, he was the Ghandi of the stapling world, except furry and evil. The gist of his story never changed, which was that it’s impossible for a person to injure herself on a stapler.
While he was yammering on about the stapler for the fortieth time, I proceeded to staple a document and yelped in agony about my severely injured hand. He told me that I would be leaving early without pay and was no longer allowed to staple anything. Any documents that required binding would have to come through him. I can only assume that he put the stapler in the same place as the Post-it notes.
Anyway, I thanked Dick for the time off and told him that with my shortened day, I can now meet Gretchen for scones, Gretchen being the woman who was suing him. Although she didn’t ask me to be a witness, I made a New Year’s resolution to help others and she would be the first recipient of this newfound philanthropy. I was told to “get the hell out,” but still not fired! Christ Almighty! What’s a guy have to do in this world?
A vague reference to murder is always helpful.
Dick really did love his coffee. What better way to tweak him than to use his caffeine fix to get myself to the unemployment office, and right quickly! In the kitchen, Dick was pouring himself a cup of liquid help-me-poo. After a long sip, I continued my reign of terror.
“How’s the coffee? Good? You enjoying it? How’s that coffee working for you?,” I asked while exchanging stares between the cup and his face with a frighteningly oversized grin. His face contorted much like I’d expect one’s face to strain before a stroke. Although I predicted he’d toss the coffee in the trash, and he didn’t disappoint in that respect, I didn’t count on what I now call “the bonus psychosis.”
As I walked off to take a nap at my desk, Dick marched down the hall, screaming: “If you poisoned my coffee, I will punch you until you are dead! I will punch you until you are fucking dead!” Whoa. If I wasn’t having so much fun, I’d actually check to see if this is valid grounds for quitting one’s job. I don’t even care anymore. I’m having too much fun with this. I finally have a reason to get up in the morning!
Alert the world to your employer’s
favorite hobby: fucking children.
One day, Dick came to my desk and asked me what I was doing.
“I’m just signing you up for some mailings on the web.” “What kind of mailings?,” he asked with the quivering voice of a man who either had too many cups of coffee or was suffering caffeine withdrawal from the fear of me replacing his creamer with splooge.
“Just this great organization I thought you might like called the North American Man/Boy Love Association.” When I asked him to verify his home address and telephone number for registration, he ran over and pulled the plug out of the computer. What a weirdo!
Too bad he hadn’t picked up those blank CDs yet. The computer crashed for the second time in as many months. At least he only lost two months of work now instead of twenty years, I told him, hoping he’d look on the bright side.
Dick looked a little queasy so I recommended he have a cup of coffee. When I offered to make it for him, he screamed at me to “shut the fuck up,” ran into his office and slammed the door shut. Jeez. What’s up his ass?
That was my final attempt to get fired. I guess in a way, the son of a bitch won. I never did get fired, but as a consolation prize, I got a really good job a few months later and left Dick with just a week’s notice and a flip of my favorite finger.
Although I suffered through two-and-a-half years of verbal abuse, mind-numbing work, under-his-breath Holocaust references and shit pay, I feel that no matter how bad a day of work seems in my new position, I can always compare it to any day with Dick, and sigh contentedly at how good things are now. If it was worth anything, it was worth that.
I guess I didn’t realize that my insubordination would have been enough to lose me the right to my unemployment. Maybe it would’ve been a smart idea to research the unemployment laws better before going forward with my plan, but I’m really, really lazy. Whatever. I’m sure he’ll die first and that’s enough to put a smile on my face.