Thursday, June 19, 2008

the day I quit

Ok, so, two years ago I quit my job working as a temp doing little tiny illustrations for text books. I mean, can there be any other job in the world that would have as high a suicide rate? Ok, I'm sure there are some.

I sent out an email to the whole company after receiving an email that was directed to the entire company that said this:

"Where were you on 6,6,6?

Make it a good one."

They were talking about June 6th, 2006, the day the remake of The Omen came out.

So, I decided to take a moment and write a funny story:

"I woke up in darkness. Seriously. I couldn't see anything, and my bed felt like a pile of goo. I was trying to figure out why there was no light, when I realized that my cat had sat on my head.

Truly frightening.

The goo was this new tempra foam mattress pad. You really must get one.

I showered, I ate breakfast. I felt obscenely close to killing all of humanity, while I finished my Special K. Oh, and I was watching an episode of The Simpsons, their IV Halloween Special.

From there, I got onto the subway. Id never brought an ax onto the R line before. Usually, people are down-right miserable, dreading going to work. This morning, they seemed more... animated.

I went to grab the express train which was closing up, ready to pull out of the station. I waved to the conductor, ax in hand. Id never seen a conductor smile and cry, at the same time.

The N train was very similar to the R train, except now the crowd seemed to be shying away from me, as if I smelled REALLY bad. In truth, I think it was the homeless guy that was sitting down in front of me, but when he moved... I had to check under my shoes, just in case, you know?

I got to 34th street without further incident, and took the walk up the stairs slow, whilst sharpening my ax. Ever have a police officer throw his gun at your feet and start crying for him mommy? Its something everyone should experience.

Down 32nd street. Asian people left and right were running from me, as if I were Godzilla.

Round the corner at 32nd and Madison, into the heavy double doors of this building (I swear, I'm breaking them down today) and, at first, I thought that curly haired guy who presides over the 1 x 2 booth by the elevators was going to ask me for ID. Again.

He fainted.

Now, I'm transferred to the 4th floor, among bras and brassieres and panties... It's all been very soothing.

BUT. I'm waiting for Dave Blumenfeld to give me work... And, I have to say, things might get messy.

Son of the Devil."

And then I got in trouble. The VP said it was a very inappropriate e-mail, and people were offended. I was then asked to send out a formal apology. So, I originally wrote this:

"In regards to my response to Tyrone's 666 e-mail, my apologies to the following who might have found what I wrote insulting:

Homeless people
Transit workers
Anyone without a penis
Anyone who once had a penis
Satan worshippers who took the day off and didn't get this e-mail yet
Anyone with large breasts
Anyone with small breasts
Medium breasts
My face sitting cat
My immediate boss, who I'm going to ax in the face, regardless of whether or not I have a job tomorrow

And so on. For those of you with a huge stick up your asses, go fuck yourself. I don't need this crap temp-job as much as you need the incredibly good work I was doing.


But then I just sent a regular apology email... only to get bombarded with emails saying it was the funniest thing they'd read in a while, and all that.

Unreal. The guy who sent the initial letter sent a follow-up two minutes AFTER I sent mine.

When I got the initial letter I was like "WOW, this place is cool! They do this?"

No one likes to have fun any more. In corporate America.

No comments: