Jobs are so 2006. Sarah Palin quit her job and if she ever learns to speak in actual words rather than abstractions, perhaps we’ll find out why. (cough*bookdeal*) Dan Choi and over 300 other gays in the military have been discharged this year for being homosexuals, and as you’ve probably noticed, the nationwide unemployment rate is out-of-f*cking-control  — although many are enjoying what they refer to as “funemployment.” Perhaps you too have lost your job, been “downsized,” or are living in perpetual fear that you WILL lose your job, causing you to do crazy things like work really hard instead of surfing facebook all day. OMG LIFE IS SO HARD. (No really; it is.) (And more complicated, too, when it comes to the lesbians).

Trying to do something about it will likely prove frustrating, so it’s better just to laugh at yourself/sit around and bitch & moan with everyone else — like the girl who got fired by Woody Allen and then decided to make an entire movie about being Fired.

Let us reflect on the magic and the misery in this week’s Autostraddle Roundtable: I QUIT! YOU’RE FIRED! All of these stories happened before the recession, so as you can see, misery can be found just about anywhere.

What’s your best getting fired/quitting story? Please share.

Stef:

When I was at university in Philadelphia, my roommate Ben and I both got jobs at a casual Mexican restaurant in Center City called Hot Tamales. We weren’t crazy about food service, but the pay was under the table, we had all the free tacos we could eat, and I kinda liked working in a place with a “HOT! HOT! HOT!” neon sign in the window.

The day we’d found the place just happened to have been the day their entire staff had thrown a mutiny and quit, so they basically hired whatever hapless suckers had filled out an application that day. From what I understood, they didn’t actually often hire girls, and made sure that I knew that I was never allowed to prepare food – women just weren’t smart enough to understand the complicated art of burrito assembly.

From what I understood, they didn’t actually often hire girls, and made sure that I knew that I was never allowed to prepare food – women just weren’t smart enough to understand the complicated art of burrito assembly.

Girls were only good for working the register, which I guess I was fine with, until the owner started making comments to me like, “Girls can’t learn ANYTHING!” and asked me why I was even bothering going to college. This got old pretty fast, and after a while the constant misogyny outweighed the benefits of free burrito. I sucked it up and politely submitted my two week’s notice, citing a need to dedicate more time to my schoolwork.

On my last day, my afternoon class happened to have been cancelled, so I came in early to help out with the lunch rush (for which the restaurant was often understaffed). When I walked in, the owners yelled, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?” When I explained that I’d come by to help out, they snapped at me to leave and return only when my actual shift started.

A little weird, but fair enough – I got a cup of coffee and read the CityPaper for a bit. When I returned, the owners were gone – and so was my timecard. My roommate informed me that they’d decided I was trying to screw them out of an extra hour’s pay, and that they’d fired me on my last day for my “snotty attitude.”

Joke’s on them – I continued to enjoy free Mexican food at their restaurant for months afterwards, and in the process learned how to wrap my own killer burritos.

I think Sarah Palin should get a job at Hot Tamales.

“Goodbye boss man. It’s quittin’ time.”
(Judy, 9 to 5)

Intern Vashti:

My senior year of high school I was working at [redacted smoothie shop] and it was amazing. I loved it, loved my co-workers, and knew it was a big step up from the sketchy canvassing job I had the previous summer. By summer [I started in the fall], I had every smoothie recipe memorized to the *ounce*, knew the orders of all our regular customers, and was on my way to becoming a team lead. In May/June our store was falling behind in sales compared to the rest of the district. My manager started cracking down, firing some of the weaker employees and strictly enforcing the one smoothie per shift rule [meaning we couldn’t give away free or discounted smoothies to friends and family anymore].

Some of my coworkers were becoming a little stressed about the possibility of getting fired but I was just stressed that I hadn’t gotten my promotion yet.

About halfway through June I bit my tongue. I don’t mean that metaphorically. I mean I physically bit my tongue. HARD. It bled for awhile and seemed fine, until the next morning when I woke up at 7:00 to a sharp pain in my mouth. I had to be at work by 7:45 to open.

My tongue had swollen up and I couldn’t even talk without it hurting. My Mom called me in sick and though I felt horrible about leaving my coworker alone, I couldn’t talk and Sundays were slow. I went to Urgent Care and they told me the infection was contagious, so obvs that was a good call on my part.

Moral of the story: Don’t bite your tongue. It will get infected and then … you will get fired.

The next week was my pre-planned vacation and when I got home, I called for my schedule and was told I wasn’t on it. I figured my boss had forgotten I wasn’t going to be back that week [it wouldn’t be anything new, she’d done it before] so I just let it be and called the next week. I was on hold for way longer than it should take to walk to the schedule board and back … when I finally got to talk to the manager she asked how my trip was and how my tongue was feeling and I said it was good and better and asked about my schedule.

“You didn’t get anyone to cover the opening shift you missed two weeks ago,” she said. “So you’re not on it.” I hung up in tears. What just happened? Was I fired? And if so — why? I’d never done ANYTHING wrong and I knew plenty who had.

I was told to go in and apologize to the coworker I’d left, so I did, but she was totally over it and also didn’t get why the manager was freaking out. Another week passed … no update from my manager. I go back … AGAIN. … and the coworker I run into isn’t optimistic about my future there.

I went home ENRAGED! BAWWHH! My manager didn’t even have the decency to give me any sort of official [or unofficial for that matter] notification of my termination.

It’s been a year since then and I STILL don’t know my employment status there. I should probs look into the legality of my termination. Maybe I could get some money for my troubles.

Moral of the story: Don’t bite your tongue. It will get infected and then … you will get fired.

“Janie, today I quit my job. And then I told my boss to go fuck himself, and then I blackmailed him for almost sixty thousand dollars. Pass the asparagus.”

(Lester, American Beauty)

Natalie:

I think it best to tell my I-just-got-fired story in the form of a dialogue; that said, before I begin, I will provide you with relevant background. Here we go.

It was the Fall of 2007 and I was temping – an incredibly life-affirming activity -– for the President of the jazz division of a large music label. Let’s call him Mr. B. He was an older gentleman of a certain demeanor and air of self-entitlement.

I was to temp for one week, while his executive assistant was away on holiday. On my first day, Ms. R., the HR individual, informed me that Mr. B was “a big deal” and that I should “act accordingly.” Ummm, ok!

Mr. B comes in – around 10:30 am – says hello, and asks if I have made coffee and, if so, could I get him a mug (the grey one) with sugar and a bit of cream. I oblige, bringing him the grey mug.

I am then promptly told that the ratio of cream to coffee is unacceptable and would need to be fixed. OK.

I bring him back cup number two and, this time, he is satisfied. Down to work: he asks me to dictate all his email messages, as he has “no idea how to use [email] technology, nor does [he] want to.”

He then verbally replies to each; I take notes of his replies … and then I have email the emailer back as if I were Mr. B himself.

Despite the fact that Mr. B is outlandish, arrogant and self-centered, we manage to get along. In part, I believe, because I refused to treat him like he was “a big deal,” Mr. B quickly warmed to me: before the end of the first day, he spoke to me about his mistress, impotence and poop.

Tuesday and Wednesday went on with more of the same, and then on Wednesday evening he invited me and a few of his colleagues to two shows. I went, and although he was all razzle dazzle and more than slightly inappropriate, I felt cool & aware and safe with my two buffers.

Then Thursday morning came … or um, so I hear, as I missed it.

Mr. B: “I don’t need people like you in my life. You are a terrible human being. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Don’t fucking bother stepping foot in this building again.”

I woke up at 1 P.M. I rolled over to see 23 missed calls on my phone. I was four hours late! Jesus Cristo!

I should’ve lied, but I called my temping company immediately and told the truth. Then, following protocol, I called the HR individual at the record label and also told her what happened. Though she definitely seemed annoyed – and rightfully so – she said not to worry (“we all have these days”) and to come in and finish the week off tomorrow. Great!

I got ready to meet Riese at the gym…and while I was walking there I received a phone call from the intern who was filling in for me.

Mr. B wanted to speak to me.

Here’s how that went:

Me: Hi Mr. B. I am so terribly sorry; I slept through my alarm…I am so, so sorry for the inconvenience. It is completely my fault….and I take full resp-

Mr. B: Why the fuck did you not call?

Me: I did; I phoned the temping agency and HR, as I am supposed to —

Mr. B: Who the fuck sleeps until 1pm? I don’t believe you. Where the fuck were you? This is completely irresponsible and unacceptable.

Me:I know, I am so sorry, I am so sorry. I have not been sleeping well the past few months and slept through the alarm.

Mr. B: How could you do this to me? How could you do this to me?

Me: I know, I am terribly sorry. I will come in early tomo-

Mr. B: I don’t need people like you in my life. You are a terrible human being. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. Don’t fucking bother stepping foot in this building again.

Me: I am so, so sorr…

CLICK.

Sigh. Best. Firing. Ever.

[Sidenote from Riese: Natalie then arrived at the gym bawling crying on the elliptical trainer which made me very sad. I comforted her with all the stories of how I was terrible at every job I ever had … oh, here those are!]

“You can’t fire me. You don’t even know my NAME.”
(Margaret, Clockwatchers)

Riese:

Immediately after graduating from college and moving to New York in 2004, I experienced a series of terrible employment experiences that scarred me for life.

As a fresh young woman of the world I expected to be snatched up by New York Magazine immediately upon arrival in the big city with my DIPLOMA! And my GPA! And my TALENT!

As a fresh young woman of the world I expected to be snatched up by New York Magazine immediately upon arrival in the big city with my DIPLOMA! And my GPA! And my TALENT! Unfortunately things had changed slightly since I’d mapped out my career in 1999 and there were no longer any publishing jobs to be had, those that existed were taken by rich kids who could afford months of unpaid full-time internships as leverage and/or paid in the neighborhood of 25K a year, before taxes. In NYC dollars, that shit ain’t liveable.

So! First, I interview at two temp agencies who both refuse to hire me due to my “ties to the media.” Funny, considering that those ties are unprofitable, yet prevent me from making a living.

Luckily! I have four years of waitressing experience, was an employee trainer at the Macaroni Grill in Michigan and boast about a year of experience waitressing at The Olive Garden in Times Square when I was 18.

So! I’ll just waitress! And freelance! Yes! Hurrah!

I. The Saz – FIRED.

After failing an impromptu pop quiz at a diner (Who can tell me what’s in a Lumberjack Special rightnow?) and being totally underwhelmed by the life of a “lounge” promoter enlisted to peddle shots of herbal tonics to people on the street (until we are asked for a vendor’s permit and shuffled home, penniless), I walk in to a West Village spot called The Sazerac House and charm the guy there immediately. I begin straight away!

“The Saz” is staffed & frequented mostly by older gay men who’ve been living in Chelsea for decades and lost their boyfriends to AIDS ten years ago. They are skeptical of me. (Gay generation gap?)

We pool tips and I don’t make any money at The Saz besides my side income selling my friend’s prescription meds to the bartender. About a month in, after I’ve trained a new gay boy, I’m suddenly fired by the man who hired me allegedly because they’re closing for lunch and won’t need me anymore. The Saz is about two blocks from my apartment so I walk by there quite often and so I know they’re lying. I’ll never know the truth.

II. Craigslist Is Bunk

I get up the day after my firing, armed with resumès and ambition, get off at Lincoln Center and … walk promptly into an afternoon matinee of The Stepford Wives. I’m then immediately seduced by Victoria’s Secret’s Semi-Annual Sale because you know, it only happens semi-annually and stuff.

Not that I care, really, because of all the gigs available on craigslist! And by “gigs” I mean “schemes”! I’ll soon rake in 300 dollars a night as a Jell-O Shot Girl! (fail!) As a bartender at upscale swingers parties! (fail!) As a taker of online surveys! (fail!) Google ADSENSE! (fail.) However craiglist is a fun way to meet random cute girls in the tri-state area (success!) anyhow …

III. Niko’s!

After about a week of nonsense, I walk into NIKO’S GRILL on the Upper West Side because they seem to perpetually be hiring and therefore must be desperate, and I like that in an employer.

I’m hired on the spot! Later I’m told this is only because the Hiring Maven herself, Elise the Douchestress, was out of town and the pervy manager (NIKO!), left to his own devices, actually hired two girls in one day. Elise never hires girls, because Elise will never get a job on Broadway like she wants and therefore must take revenge on the world somehow. Like by never hiring girls, and furthermore only hiring ugly guys.

See — most NYC restaurants are staffed by beautiful wannabe actors & models. Aside from one person (I’ll get to him later) and the other girl hired on my day, everyone at Niko’s is … um. Unfortunate-looking. Which is fine. But it struck me as odd, as did the fact that every staffer had been there for many years or was brand spankin’ new.

On my first day of training, I attempt to make conversation with my dumpy trainer but he rebuffs me. In fact, no one at Niko’s seems interested in conversation. When another trainee asks me a question about the menu test, Elise comes over and scolds us; “We ask you to come in early to study the menu. Not to talk.” When my training shift is over and the restaurant is empty, I’m forced to sit in the back room for an hour to “study the menu,” which I apparently could not do just as well at HOME, as I suggest.

“On my first day of training, I attempt to make conversation with my dumpy trainer but he rebuffs me. In fact, no one at Niko’s seems interested in conversation. When another trainee asks me a question about the menu test, Elise comes over and scolds us; “We ask you to come in early to study the menu. Not to talk.”

It turns out socializing is prohibited at Niko’s, which is actually one of their milder rules. In fact, we all must sit at separate tables while eating employee meals before our shifts to avoid making friends.

The manager Niko himself is totally psychotic. He regularly wobbles into the restaurant on his scrooge-ish cane, sucks his gums like his tongue is a toothpick and writes long notes in “the book,” a notebook which we are all required to write in every evening and read every afternoon. Niko usually writes a three-page rant on one of five basic topics every night, e.g. that he didn’t create the restaurant for us to socialize. When I start dating another server (the cute one!), we’re personally (passive-aggressively) singled out and my elder is told “monkey see, monkey do.”

We pool tips. Newbies like me get half of what the elders get, so obvs here I am again not making any money.

When Elise tells Niko that I’m seeing The Cute One, Niko is furious and he then re-does the entire schedule to ensure that I am never working with the person I am dating AND —better!—to ensure that we never even have TIME OFF together. We are actually the first people in the history of Niko’s to not get a day off that we both requested. (That’s the one thing they were good about).

Because The Cute One is an Elder, he works all the best shifts, therefore in order to separate us, every shift I am scheduled for is a dead shift where I can hope to make $30 bucks, max.

I’m so f*cking angry about this that on my way to work one morning I compose a three-page letter telling Niko what he could do better for his employees — I am Jerry Maguire! I AM TAKING THE GOLDFISH! — (you may be familiar with these screeds of mine, I have a habit of it. E.g., yelling at Matt Heaton, yelling at pro-IFC commenters, etc.) I arrive at work, cut and paste my three-page letter of resignation into “The Book”, write “DON’T DELETE THIS” all over it, and stomp off into the sunlight to get a new job!

Niko tells The Cute One that he thought I was a good waitress and that he liked me, which is confusing. Furthermore I am told that he seems visibly reflective about by my letter. Which he obviously removes from the book.

HURRAH! I QUIT!

IV. UNSTOPPABLE

My next gig at a midtown Tex-Mex joint is promising at first — they like me so much and trust my waitressing skills SO MUCH that they don’t even make me finish training! Then a week later I reach into my pill bottle for a Claritin and accidentally take an ambien I didn’t even know was in the bottle and I almost pass out at work.

I am mysteriously fired by telephone a few days later, told that it “just isn’t working out.” FUCK MY LIFE!

V. UNSTARTABLE

NEXT UP! A swanky Upper East Side joint where I make it through one week of training with another psychotic owner (I am warned by present servers that most people don’t get along with him, I brush this off because I’ve dealt with Niko) when some big-time restaurant owners end up in my training section. They’re pissed when Tony tries to transfer the table to a real server because they’ve already established a cute witty banter with MEMEMEME. They tell Tony that they want me back, and I deliver this news to Tony.

Tony: “Fine, whatever! You will only ruin their meal! Now I look like an idiot!”

Me: “I’m sorry—But—what would you have suggested I do?”

Tony: “I just look like an idiot! Whatever! Wait on them. I’m sure you’ll do a terrible job.”

The men leave me an 80-dollar tip and praise my service to Tony. He says they are only being polite. He’s still mad at me. He keeps the tip for himself. The next day of training (also the day that G.W. Bush was re-elected, which we were forbidden to discuss,) he singles me out at the meeting for usurping authority and not being “up to par” with the other servers and bada-bing bada-boom somehow we are YELLING AT EACH OTHER in front of the entire restaurant.

This story ends with me throwing my apron off, trumpeting, “Talking to Tony is like fighting with a fucking brick wall!” and once again storming out the door.

Tony has left me with two suggestions. One: I should apply at the big tipper’s places, where he promises me I will not be hired, because they are not nice, like him. Two: I should consider EJ’s across the street, which is casual. Casual. Like me.

VI. FUCKMYLIFEFUCKMYLIFEFUCKMYLIFE

Unfortunately this (unpaid) week of training has cut into my time studying for the SATs that I need to almost ace in order to be accredited as a Kaplan tutor. I forgot that math is hard and despite my promising teacher audition, I don’t get the job … or a second chance.

Luckily I have parts modeling, sketchy jobs filing for lonely men of the outer boroughs, and have just purchased a book on how to make six figures a year as a copywriter! AND! AND! A $10/hour job at Banana Republic!

Somehow I end the fiscal year of 2004 in debt up to my eyeballs … which is why I fail to convince any Banana Republic customers to open a BP credit card like I’m instructed to (I think it’s a bad idea for them to open a credit card! I can’t do that to them!) which is why in January I am told that I am no longer needed after the holiday season.

Luckily! I got some cute pants at Banana which I totally still wear!

Crystal:

A few years ago I had my dream writing job. The boss was a serious animal lover, and so the office was overrun by his pets. I love animals and so working in a zoo was fun … until one of the dogs turned against me.

The little bastard would constantly growl and bark, tear up my office and try to bite me whenever we’d cross paths. Knowing how lucky I was to have landed the job, I just put up with it – until one day the dog’s teeth connected with flesh, causing me to trash talk it very loudly, and at length.

To be fair, challenging a dog that wore a pink diamante collar to a duel was not exactly my finest moment… but I didn’t expect to be schooled over it. The boss summoned me into his office and accused me of provoking the animal, that the dog would never bite someone who didn’t deserve it and so I need to adjust my attitude. It was too much.

Not wanting ‘Quit Over Altercation With Dog’ stamped on my employment record, I waited a few weeks before resigning with an excuse about not wanting to be a writer anymore.

“And I said, I don’t care if they lay me off either, because I told, I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then, then I’m, I’m quitting, I’m going to quit. And, and I told Don too, because they’ve moved my desk four times already this year, and I used to be over by the window, and I could see the squirrels, and they were married …”
(Milton, Office Space)

Intern Elizabeth

My first job was as a Page at the Des Plaines Public Library. I was hired by my BFF’s mom, and for three years it was awesome. Then my boss got promoted, they put an incompetent chick in charge of the pages (she was nice, but bad at her job) and created a new position to look over everyone. The woman they hired, Susan, was NUTS.

Apparently Susan was hired ’cause she was “militant” and could therefore get things done. She’d recently converted to a very strict sect of Islam and chose to wear the full hijan. Obviously there’s nothing wrong with that, except when it makes you act crazy strict & unreasonable while working with teenagers and twentysomethings at a LIBRARY.

She literally sent people to spy on us in the stacks and drop in on us during breaks to drive us out faster. Her spies would tattle on us for every little thing, sometimes with ridiculous exaggerations. And these were *adults* with high positions in the library.

It was so childish and annoying. I didn’t want to deal with it (I was taking full time classes downtown, living at home in the suburbs and working 2 jobs. My fuse was short as it was.)

So one day I walked in, decided I didn’t want to/couldn’t be there anymore, crossed my name off all the schedules, wrote my boss a little paragraph, tossed it in her mailbox and left. Didn’t talk to anyone.

Left them one Page short for 8-hours on a Saturday and I didn’t care (so unlike me) and didn’t feel bad/guilty.

Then a few days later my former boss (the incompetent one) called and said that Susan wanted to know why I quit, what I was tired of, etc.

So I said, “Do you want to tell her it was because of *her*?!” And my boss friggin told that woman what I said!

So Susan kept calling me, wanting to talk. I refused. My mom took the calls for me, said I didn’t need to talk to her if I didn’t want to. I did feel bad about it eventually. Especially when I had papers to do for school and couldn’t find the books I needed elsewhere…

Also, I realized that they had taken the employee code off my card roughly the second I walked out the door and so I owed $20+ in overdue fines. Luckily the Clerks still liked me and cut the fine to almost nothing.

Tinkerbell:

I do not have to work because I am a dog and I don’t eat any food because I want to be skinny. I am so happy for recessions, because everyone I want to play with is at home, except for the people that have no homes so they have no newspapers. One thing is for sure that I will never go to college. All the girls I know who went to college have no jobs. All the boys I know who went to college have jobs. Most of the people I know who didn’t go to college also have jobs. Politicians have jobs, then they have sex, then they have no jobs. I’d like to live on a kibbutz or in a wigwam. What is human resources? Love Tinkerbell.

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