I mean, we have to – it’s a pop culture phenomenon this week. It’s trending on Twitter. We have to strike while the iron is hot, and before we remember that we already owe enough money on our mortgages and credit cards that if we lived in the Middle Ages we would probably be dying of typhoid in debtor’s prison right now.
It all started, of course, with Steven Slater, the JetBlue flight attendant and most amazing airplane hero since Chelsey “Sully” Sullenberger, who cursed out a rude passenger via intercom, grabbed a few beers, and made a slow clap-worthy getaway using the emergency landing slide. This settles once and for all that the majority of people with the surname Slater are awesome (argument for: Christian; argument against: A.C.).
This man takes full advantage of the exit row.
Then – although this turned out to be a hoax – photos of a pretty girl quitting her broker job via a series of dry erase board messages* went viral.
*She “quit” because her boss called her a HOPA, or “hot piece of ass.” Um, shouldn’t that be HPOA? I’m confused.
I myself have never been able to live the dream of quitting a terrible job in a heroic fashion.
When I was in college I worked for a few months in the campus center, refilling potato salad and greasy wax beans and cleaning up the Belgian waffle station (and seriously, guys, if the future of mankind depended on being able to make a waffle without dripping half of the batter on the counter in the process, we would be fucked.)
Anyway, I didn’t like it, so I took to taking (yeah, “took to taking.” I’m a wordsmith, what can I say?) extended smoke breaks in front of the building – directly beneath my boss’ window, in fact – while still wearing my uniform. I got fired and stole a few loaves of bread. It was totally lame.
Right after college I got a job as the assistant to a film producer. I worked out of her home – specifically out of her 10 year-old daughter’s bedroom. Her very openly gay husband didn’t work and spent all day at the gym. The producer was a real bitch, so after two months I told her I couldn’t hack it. “I’m having a really rough time in my life right now,” I said. “Maybe you should consider waitressing,” she said. “Maybe you should consider marrying someone who doesn't subscribe to Butt magazine!" I said. No, I didn't. I slunk away and licked my wounds.
The only time I came close to revenge was when I left a publishing job a few years ago. I told my bosses about another offer I’d received, allowed them to counter (they didn’t), and gave two weeks’ notice like a decent person. Then I heard that the CEO had referred to me as a “fucking cunt.”
I anonymously reported him to the IRS.
He never got audited though. So it was kind of a revenge fail in the end.
Hence the title of this post.