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How Not To Quit Your Job
May. 10th, 2002 07:18 am
Unbeknownst to just about everyone, today was my last day at E-Z Mart. I had the plan of exactly how I would give the whole place one big finger before I left...and I executed it perfectly.
The idea was simple enough. Show up for work, serve customers...and that's it. Don't stock anything; don't replace anything, don't clean anything, don't *do* anything. Have the manager walk into a filthy, unkempt store and read her rights on a silver platter. OK, rock, it's all figured out.
I got to work at 10:15, dealt with the beginning-of-shift rush and...pulled out a chair and played Yahtzee. Read a couple tabloids, played some more Yahtzee (I'm getting quite good), served customers, played Yahtzee, yada yada yada.
The floor got dirty scuffmarks all over it. The bin catcher for the Icee machine overflowed onto the floor, leaving sticky Coke syrup residue everywhere. The coffee in the coffee pots burned into a black sludge that eventually fused directly into the glass. Napkins scattered, spills dried into sticky puddles of death, fountain cups were depleted, toilet paper in both bathrooms ran out...and I didn't do a damned thing. Everything was going according to plan.
The manager finally arrived, and she asked me exactly why everything was so out of place. I told her, "I want you to take a good look around the store, just to see what it looks like when I'm actually not working. Now you have a frame of reference."
After that I proceeded to tell her how several employees had told me about the crap she was saying behind my back, how she had been a gossiping liar. She told me how I had managed to break every company policy by wearing a trenchcoat and bringing a backpack to work (which I knew about, and thought stupid) and wearing black fingernail polish (which I didn't know about, but also think stupid). We argued for about 10 minutes, until she just walked away from me. I clocked out and went home.
It was supposed to be a really wonderful feeling, you know...giving them the shaft nice and good after 15 months straight of vigorously being fucked over. So how come I feel so pathetic?
There's this little voice in back of my head going, "Way to go asshole, you just ruined her day, and the day of everyone else who has to work with her."
Conscience sucks. Consequences suck more.
The idea was simple enough. Show up for work, serve customers...and that's it. Don't stock anything; don't replace anything, don't clean anything, don't *do* anything. Have the manager walk into a filthy, unkempt store and read her rights on a silver platter. OK, rock, it's all figured out.
I got to work at 10:15, dealt with the beginning-of-shift rush and...pulled out a chair and played Yahtzee. Read a couple tabloids, played some more Yahtzee (I'm getting quite good), served customers, played Yahtzee, yada yada yada.
The floor got dirty scuffmarks all over it. The bin catcher for the Icee machine overflowed onto the floor, leaving sticky Coke syrup residue everywhere. The coffee in the coffee pots burned into a black sludge that eventually fused directly into the glass. Napkins scattered, spills dried into sticky puddles of death, fountain cups were depleted, toilet paper in both bathrooms ran out...and I didn't do a damned thing. Everything was going according to plan.
The manager finally arrived, and she asked me exactly why everything was so out of place. I told her, "I want you to take a good look around the store, just to see what it looks like when I'm actually not working. Now you have a frame of reference."
After that I proceeded to tell her how several employees had told me about the crap she was saying behind my back, how she had been a gossiping liar. She told me how I had managed to break every company policy by wearing a trenchcoat and bringing a backpack to work (which I knew about, and thought stupid) and wearing black fingernail polish (which I didn't know about, but also think stupid). We argued for about 10 minutes, until she just walked away from me. I clocked out and went home.
It was supposed to be a really wonderful feeling, you know...giving them the shaft nice and good after 15 months straight of vigorously being fucked over. So how come I feel so pathetic?
There's this little voice in back of my head going, "Way to go asshole, you just ruined her day, and the day of everyone else who has to work with her."
Conscience sucks. Consequences suck more.
