Quitting a job you hate can be like finding the energy to climb out of a bath that’s slowly filling up with urine: it might still technically be a comfortable environment but the longer you leave it, the less respect you’re gonna have for yourself at the end. Accordingly, here are six unique, totally consequence-free* ways to make your exit a swift and memorable experience.
Say you’re the type to break up over text using emojis. Well, in this case, you could go stand outside the Sunrise studio window with a large resignation letter. I’d use block letters and minimal decorations, as glitter is rarely befitting in this scenario, though a few crude drawings may be appropriate. Likewise, brevity is your friend here; none of this “To whom it may concern…” crap, just “Hi Greg, it’s not you, it’s me. I quit”.
Bonus points if the segment Kochie’s doing fits ironically with your message, like a piece on unemployment or how millennials lack proper etiquette.
Done well, this should lead to a long and deeply rewarding session, with you miming as your boss tries desperately yet with mounting glee to discern just what the hell you’re trying to tell him. Customers will go unserved, phones will ring interminably and more than one employee will exploit the distraction you’ve provided to pilfer unmanned stock. Finally, several sweaty, manic hours later, he’ll get it and yell excitedly, “Ooh, ooh, I know, I know, it’s you quit, isn’t it? You quit! You– Oh… I see… So, you’re clearly not concerned about having a good reference, huh?”
Just imagine this conversation:
“Hello, this is Gladys.”
“Oh, hello Greg. How’s the haberdashery going?”
“It’s fine. How was your bowls club outing?”
“Splendid. Well, I say that, but Colleen put too much coriander in the casserole again and– ”
“That’s great, Mum. Look, I was just calling to check up, so– ”
“Actually, I may have, perhaps… met someone.”
“Uuuh, well, that’s… great, Mum.”
“He’s a little younger, granted, but what he lacks in experience– ”
“We went all night.”
“Jesus! Anything else to share?”
“Well, now you mention it, he did say something strange as he left: tell Greg I quit. Does that mean anything to you, honey? Greg… Are you there, sweetheart?”
Things to remember:
1) It’s not 2006 so if you do a flash mob, you deserve to be fired before you even hit the first note, Captain Yesterday.
2) Back-up dancers can provide flair but they have a powerful union so feed them every two hours or you’ll be liable. Then again, if you’re too accommodating they’ll follow you home, so strike a decent balance.
3) With lyrics, sometimes the easiest rhyme is best, i.e. banker = wanker, businessman = shmusinessman.
4) Low-key can be a good approach, like a plaintive number on acoustic guitar or a shrill, eerie recorder solo.
First off, make sure you’re featured prominently in the staff photo from that Christmas party where you were given one drink voucher and had to pay for your own meal (ugh, your boss sucks). Then, on your last day, be sure to replace the photo with one where you are photoshopped out.
Next, you’ll need to be either incredibly friendly with your co-workers or comfortable with murder. In any case, their silence regarding your existence is essential so when your boss asks where you’ve gone, they can all creepily respond, “Sam…? Who’s Sam?”
If you wanna go one step further, call the government and have your workplace condemned based on suspicion of asbestos contamination and hire a homeless guy to stand outside of it to tell passersby, “Man, this building’s been closed for twenty years.”
There, you’ve successfully avoided an awkward situation, ruined your boss’s livelihood and driven him insane. Tell me this isn’t fun.
So, you’re embroiled in a high-stakes game of cat-and-mouse with your merciless employer, a man willing to murder you and your entire family unless you continue to manufacture quality crystal meth for his mass smuggling operation. Mondays, right? Lucky for you, there’s a tried-and- true solution for this very problem: simply befriend the aged, infirm ex-cartel member who despise you but hates your boss just a little bit more and then strap a bomb to his wheelchair (once you’ve gotten his permission to do so, obviously; no need to be a dick about it). Then all you need to do is lure your current employer to the aged care facility where said old man resides and quicker than you can say “convoluted”: