So, tomorrow is my last day.
Doormouse knows what it's like to be made to leave from this company, so he has sent me something he thinks I should send round tomorrow.
Whenever people leave this company, they send the obligatory 'great to know you, see you down the pub' email.
Here is what he thinks I really ought to say:
Ladies, Gentlemen and undecided,
For some time now, I have been searching my conscience and wracking my brain, wondering whether I should send this statement to you all. After meeting with various ‘advisors’, and a hands down unanimous decision, here I sit typing the statement I have deliberated painstakingly over.
As you will all no doubt be aware, tomorrow will be my very last day here at The Company, having become the latest in a long line of redundancy victims. Though my job isn’t actually redundant, and someone is waiting in the wings to fill my position, they are calling it ‘redundancy’ but that is no more than a crock of shit. You know it, I know it, they know it.
Although technically I should be in a position to introduce you guys to my new Japanese best friend I Sue-U who works for the firm Gouie Getem and Howe, I have been made to sign a ‘compromise’ agreement, waiving all of my employment rights showing what a bunch of utter charlatans you really are.
But this email isn’t about all that. This is my chance to say a few special words to a few people.
On the whole, I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you all what a bunch of cunts I think you all are, and how happy I feel knowing that I won’t have to share the same rancid air with you. No more will I have to make awkward small talk in lifts with people who I really couldn’t give a rat’s arse about what you got up to at the weekend.
I’d like to say that I have enjoyed working here, and have built some fantastic relationships with a lot of you, but have never been one to propagate falsehoods. You’re all cunts, and have screwed me big time, and for that I sincerely hope you rot in hell.
Now for those personal messages:
Chip fat John: Thank you for imposing bulimia upon me. Every time I inhaled your aroma of chip fat, smelly feet and general soap dodging-ness I was unable to contain myself, and as a result at least ten times a day, I was powerless to stop myself from regurgitating. May your deep fryer live long, and your greasy hair grow longer.
Office Snide: Thank you for the ugliness that I have had to endure on a daily basis. Never have I known a more jagged tooth cunt who is about as straight as an intestine. You are sleazy, shameless, and apparently a marketer, and I am sure everyone would like to join in a congratulatory bum fuck for you. I’m sure we all look forward to seeing the Publisher’s baby come out with your squinty eyes, your teeth like a shark, and when it’s old enough to walk, the same crab like walk.
Miserable Receptionist: When I first started here, you pretended I did not exist, to the point where you would sit at my desk and eat your lunch, rendering me desk-less for the first 6 months of my employ. You still ignore me and act like I am invisible, but now, you are the man who checks the gangways for ‘hazardous’ objects such as paper clips and elastic bands, and I want to extend a heart felt thanks to you, for putting all of our safety here at the top of your list of priorities. Some would say that any menial task you are given is just a further way to blatantly validate your ridiculously redundant position, therefore keeping your pointless manager Mandy the Honey Monster in a job, but talk is cheap right?
This is generally the point where the person leaving gives you their email address and phone number for you to keep in contact, so here we go.
See you all on the twelfth of never gonna happen.
AND YOU CAN WALK UP AND DOWN PAST MY DESK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT COS I DON’T WORK HERE ANYMORE.
(You see, I really am a name not a number)
If I had that redundancy cheque in my hand, I'd send the email now!