I resigned my week-old job today with this email:
Please accept this letter as a notice of my resignation effective immediately. I don’t feel I am the right fit for the company and each day, I find myself wracked with anxiety and uncertainty as I go about my duties. I don’t think I will be happy at [company name redacted] and don’t want to waste your time more than I already have, which is why I believe the best course of action would be for me not to return anymore.
I thank you for your time.
This is how my former boss—a man about five-eleven, 250 lbs, calls himself a Christian, prides himself on doing “God’s Work”—responded:
this is not acceptable. you decide to walk out with no notice. did we hurt you in some way? were you disrespected to treat us this way? you know [name redacted] is on vacation next week and you dont have enough respect to give us a weeks notice.
In my opinion you are a piece of shit. If any of us ever see you again we will be sure to tell you in person. Karma will also repay you for this.
If any of us ever see you again sounds like a threat to me. I should be looking over my shoulder for this big angry dude. Say my guy and I were walking around in Balboa Island and we walked into this dude… would he scream in my face and slap me with his meaty, sausage-fingered hand? Would he throw acid in my face and laugh maniacally? Seriously, I want to know. SHOULD I BE SCARED OF THIS MAN?
And oh, yeah… I totally believe in Karma, dude. I’m pretty sure it’s this invisible thing that will follow me around like a puddle of water or a shadow or an errant pull-cord for the venetian blinds that will choke me in my sleep just like in Final Destination. I only fear five things, dude: 1) zombies 2) snakes 3) carbohydrates 4) drowning 5) zombified sea-snake creatures that poop cupcakes and pull chubby Asian girls under water and drown them.
The Background: I quit my comfortable job at a print shop last week so I can play desk-jockey at a company in Orange County that sells a holistic device which promises to make you 110% healthy and only cost you about $2000. It’s a small enough company that I think they used to run from the guy’s garage. Anyway, my first interview was with a middle-aged former Marine who was probably a football jock in high school gone-to-fat—a nice enough guy, but he leered at me and basically told me I would make a perfect receptionist because he thought I looked pretty. He said, “Oh, yeah, you’re gonna go to the second round for sure.” My second interview was with the married couple who owned the company. You could tell the wife used to be pretty, but living with this man for however long they’ve been married had already killed something inside of her. The husband grunted a lot, didn’t smile once, and interrupted his wife a lot. The wife tried to ask me a couple of questions, but the husband cut her off often. She would passively-aggressively say later, “I have a few more questions, but I’m afraid I didn’t get to ask them because I kept getting interrupted.” Awwwwwkward. A girl who worked there would tell me later on that they fight ALL THE TIME and she would often get caught in the middle. RUN, GIRLFRIEND, RUN!
When the job was offered to me, I had a few misgivings: 1) the wife offered me the job over voicemail at the end of the day and when I tried to call her back the next day to discuss the specifics of the pay and benefits she didn’t call me back until late afternoon, 2) when I asked if I could give my current job two weeks notice, the husband said, “You start on Wednesday [of last week] or not at all” (should have listened to the little voice that told me the guy was a hot-tempered douchebag), 3) when I finally did get to talk to the wife, she tried to back out of the 12-dollar-an-hour pay by telling me it was a typo (found the job on Craigslist) and the pay was really eleven bucks an hour— she decided to honor the pay anyway, because lol wut?!? I SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO THE VOICE INSIDE MY HEAD THAT TOLD ME THIS JOB WAS ALL WRONG. There were warning signs all over the place, but I had been so desperate to get out of my print shop job and get a real “office” job that I said “yes” before I even really thought about it. My mother at this point was yelling at the top of her lungs, “WE SPENT $40,000 ON YOUR COLLEGE EDUCATION SO YOU CAN GET PAID $12 AN HOUR FOR A COUPLE RUNNING A BUSINESS OUT OF THEIR GARAGE?!?!” The office was really quite nice, all dark wood and mahogany—little did I know MASKING THE HYPOCRITICAL DOUCHEBAG FUCKTARD EVIL within.
On my first day at the job, the wife handed me a three-paged list of duties that I was to perform everyday. It was really more like a schedule. For example, from 9AM-10AM, I was to: 1) empty and load the dishwasher 2) change the water of the birds (THOSE GODDAMN BIRDS) 3) return the missed calls, 4) sweep the area around the birds plus the front stoop, 5) wipe the surface areas with paper towel and Windex, etc. Now I didn’t mind any of these at all—but those goddamn birds—heck, at my old job, it had been my duty to clean the ladies’ and mens’ restrooms every morning before I started my shift as production supervisor and I had been cool with it. But the one thing that really stuck out on her “list o’ duties” was that every time I received a call for her husband, I was to take a message, walk into his office, place the note on his desk without speaking to him (?!), and walk out as quietly as I had walked in. The few times I did this, the husband yelled at me and told me I didn’t have to parade in and out of his office because I could just reach him on the intercom and ask him if he wanted to take the wall. My reaction? LOL WUT?!? DO YOU PEOPLE NOT TALK TO EACH OTHER AT ALL? DID YOU NOT SEE YOUR WIFE’S LIST O’ DUTIES?
And then there’s the wife— I’m sure, really, that’s she’s a perfectly nice woman, but every time she asked me to do something, it was like she had to dredge up the last of her energy to do so. Like it physically tired her out to actually ask me to do something for which I was being paid. “Would you mind so much” [heavy, long-suffering sigh] “…watering the plant outside? It’s looking a little parched.” Seriously, Mrs. Wife of Angry Fat Bald Dude, I didn’t mind! The only time I was really tempted to throw my shoe at her was when she practically tore my head off because I had placed a piece of paper FACE-UP on her incoming tray instead of FACE-DOWN, I swear to God. Later that day, she apologized by saying she was pissed off at another employee and was sorry she had taken it out on me. Ugh. Oh, and she actually said, “I’m sure you’re smart and everything because you came across that way on your interview and you know a bunch of languages, so I’m sure you’ll pick it up soon…” Jesus.
Confession time: I totally pandered to the whole “Christian” thing they had going on. I had read their website before heading over to interview with them and saw the “God’s Work” thing on their mission statement, so I assumed they were heavily Christian. Orange County, duh. Home of the Saddleback Church? Rick Warren ring a bell? So for my interview, I wore as little makeup as possible, wore a frumpy, boxy suit, and around my neck? A little gold crucifix that hung on a simple gold chain—it’s something I own not because I’m a good Catholic girl (I’m a seriously lapsed Catholic) but because I LOVE THE X-FILES that much and Dana Scully had one! But I figured it would help me come across as a nice Christian girl and swing the vote in my favor, so around my neck it went.
I had only spent six days at that place, but I swear to you, in those six days, I had become a nervous wreck. I never made a move or said a word that the husband-and-wife-team from the 7th Circle of Hell didn’t comment on. I couldn’t feel comfortable. I couldn’t stay one more day at that job knowing that I couldn’t ever please them. There was not one goddamn thing I could do that they wouldn’t bark or snipe at me passive-aggressively about. So hell with them, I got out. Twelve dollars an hour wasn’t worth the aggravation. I could make twelve dollars an hour somewhere else and be happy because I don’t hate the people there.
Seriously, I don’t know why the dude was so mad: on the company bylaws that his wife gave me on the first day, it said that the first 90 days were probationary and that the company OR the employee could terminate the employment AT ANY TIME WITHOUT NOTICE. Jesus, rejection issues much? DID YOU NOT READ YOUR OWN COMPANY BYLAWS? TALK TO YOUR WIFE, SHE’S IN THE OFFICE NEXT DOOR TO YOURS!
So to the people at [company redacted]: Fuck you, Fuck you, Fuck you, wait—you’re cool, Fuck you… I’M OUT!
Oh, AND FUCK YOU, BIRDS!!!
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