I did it (walked off a job without giving notice), but I chickened out and instead of confronting my manager directly, I left a memo in his mailbox. When he called and e-mailed, asking me to reconsider, I was still chicken, and sent him another e-mail. The “bravest” thing I said, even on paper, was “You call that coaching?”
Mine wasn’t a fantasy; I loved the work I did but I didn’t think one day off a week was too much to ask. After 18 months of 7-days a week, sometimes 12 hour days work, my boss told me I wasn’t getting enough trapping done. When I asked him which of my duties he wanted me to quit doing in order to have more time to trap, he suggested that I needed to get up earlier in the morning. I told him to go straight to hell. Only job in my life I have quit without notice.
About a year ago, my boss sent me an angry email loaded with screen shots of my internet activity, telling me that I should know better than to waste company time surfing the internet. That activity consisted of a site of a car club I belong to. And, the nature of the work gave me a few minutes between jobs where I had nothing to do but wait for them to process. So, between then and the end of my sentence there, I only used the internet for work-related purposes. Meanwhile, others were surfing the internet, sending funny pictures and jokes back and forth, including the boss, and the boss was fine with that.
I had prepared records of harassment and other activity from a coworker I ranted about in this thread. In a nutshell, the coworker was harassing and threatening me (yes, he threatened to kill me if I continued to report his activity to the boss). He knew every time I emailed the boss about the latest juvenile behavior, insult, or threat that he made. He obviously wasn’t very bright because he would mention specific things from the emails in his taunts. So, I dug around on my computer and found the very software that was used to capture screen shots of my internet activity and I “hijacked” it, changing the key combination and password to access it. I changed the hours in which it monitored and I collected evidence of him checking me email for 20 different days between February’s threat and my final working day.
I had prepared a packet of those screen shots as well as print outs of pornographic material which that coworker had been downloading on the internet. I was going to present that to the boss on Monday, April 30th (this year). Depending on his reaction, I was going to give him my letter of resignation (I wouldn’t have quit if he had, instead, immediately fired my abuser).
I had been interviewing, and my schedule had me working a half day on the 27th, so I had an interview right after work. But, as I clocked out, the boss had been standing there waiting for me (he had to wait ten minutes because I wouldn’t leave until I finished the job I was working on). And he told me that he had gotten a few phone calls for a reference, so he was putting me on “permanent layoff.” I told him I was going to give him my letter of resignation on Monday.
The funny thing was, about a month prior to that, I had sent myself an email of Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” and played it loudly in my cubicle ala The Shawshank Redemption. I had never played music there before or after. Other employees could hear it easily and, part way through, I cranked the volume to full blast. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man in the front office felt free.
I still have to return some of their office property: Things I had taken home to repair, the cell phone, and some software manuals that I had taken home to read.
Go watch The Shawshank Redemption before you read the following:
I am considering getting a rock hammer and grinding it down to a nub and leaving it, and the company shirt with it. I did put a screen cap of “His Judgement Cometh and That Right Soon” into the random screen saver pics on a computer that wasn’t using that screen saver. I suspect that they will change it back to that soon, and get that little surprise.
When I worked at Office Max I was in charge of the electronics department. All of the electronics merchandise floor models on display were tagged with an alarm to prevent theft. Each item had a tag attached to it with a strong adhesive strip to hold a “button” in place between the tag and the surface of the unit. If this button was released the alarm would sound. The tags were all daisy-chained together and connected to a central box, where a loud, shrill beep would eminate when the alarm was triggered. The alarm tags were super sensitive and at least a few times a day one would get set off for no apparent reason. Since only managers carried the keys to shut off these damn things, it was always a big nuisance to track one down to shut off the beeping sound.
So where does my walking-out fantasy come into play here? On many occasions I dreamed about going through the entire electronics department and deliberately triggering each and every alarm box (about 8 of them, IIRC), leaving in my wake an annoying cacophony of beeps that the managers would have to deal with (not to mention having to track down all the breaches in the alarm system that I’d have left behind).Fortunately, nobody pissed me off on my last day enough to drive me to commit such an act, so I never got to carry out this fantasy.
A few years ago, I made a quiet and peaceful exit from a college campus that I could no longer stomach.
What I really wanted to say was this:
“Faculty members: I like most of you. Some I could do without. You all need to stick together or you will collapse as a group.
Board of Trustees: I’ve never met such a regressive, good ol’ boy network as yours. You and the district negotiations team really deserve each other. I hope you have fun clusterfucking each other in the ass. Also, I’m reasonably sure that at least one of the board members does not actually live in the area he serves. You know that’s illegal. Someday I will find out his real address.
Students: You won’t even be aware of my absence after a while. I am PT, and we are considered expendable and totally interchangeable, like spare parts.
Divison deans: I suppose you think it’s cool that you don’t follow any agreements or contracts if you don’t feel like it. I guess you think you’re really organized in handing out assignments as if you were tossing electronic confetti around, first come, first served. I’ve had enough of your crap.
Instruction/admissions and so on: I sympathize with you, the classified staff. Without you, this campus could not function. I hope you all rise up and walk out simultaneously.
Construction workers: I really hope and pray that you open up a huge sinkhole, save yourselves, and let the aforementioned dumbasses get swallowed up along with the buildings. It would be best for everyone.”
Only once have I quit without notice. I was working in an insurance office for a real twit. I kept thinking I could stick it out, but I just couldn’t. So on a Thursday (right before he was taking a 4 day weekend, oops), I told him that it was my last day, and that I couldn’t work for him anymore. He came unglued and treated me like shit the rest of the day. The main reason I didn’t give two weeks’ notice was my fear of really shitty treatment once the notice had been given. I was right.
But I didn’t say anything that I might owe him an apology for later- it was (and is) none of his business what I thought of him and how he ran his business & life.
I don’t really have any grudges towards my company, employer, boss and colleagues, except the minor intrigues and nuisances that always pops up at a workplace. Rather, I resent the job condition itself - working in “the world’s largest kindergarden.”
So my fantasies are split into two;
-
We have 3200 rooms split into 69 living barracks. Each room has 2 spare keys as well as the one we hand out to the guests. The serial number is irrelevant, in most cases, and requires consulting a huge Excel sheet to match serial number and room. On my last day, I have vowed to pick out every single gorramn key from the key lockers and placing them in a pile on the reception floor and bathe it in corrosive acid.
-
I know where the root management-software’s category algorithms lie. Oooone eeeensy keypress from me would mean nothing - and I mean nothing - would come out from the database until the change was reset. No cleaning lists for 3200 odd rooms, no overview of who lives where, no way to tell if the cantina’s food supplies are stocked and pretty much no way to restore it short of a complete database backup and system re-install.
Of course, I think I’ll go out in subtle style, instead, and change all the camp-to-site shuttle busses’ title lights to “Kindergarden to/from” and dump pink dye in all the laundromats.
You know what? Friday was my last day at the bank, and since, given that I’m not presently imprisoned, I clearly didn’t do this…I’ll go ahead and share mine.
[LONG BACKSTORY]
From the day I started taking supervisor calls at the customer service center, I kept a little text file called “RSBList”. This list was, quite simply, a compilation of names of all Rich Sadistic Bastards to whom I had spoken.
Now, before I go on, I should point out that I spoke to a lot of Sadistic Bastards, plenty of Rich Bastards, and the occasional Rich Sadist. The folks on RSBList…well, they were a cut above the rest. To make RSBList, one had to:
R) Have total assets with the bank in excess of $5,000,000
S) Have complete disregard for the humanity of anyone not meeting condition (R),
B) Have figured out that, due to (R) and (S), the bank will bend over backwards to satisfy any little whim that falls out of one’s rich sadistic ass, all the while gladly accepting constant streams of verbal abuse as the “problem” is being resolved
…and, the Listmaker…
*) Having realized (B), repeatedly indulge in this behavior for one’s own amusement, each time tailoring one’s requests to just barely skirt the event horizon of true impossibility, thereby maximizing the amount of entertaining scrambling the peons must do to fulfill one’s rich, sadistic, bastardly wishes.
RSBList was still longer than you’d think.
Anyway, once I hit management level, the reason I gave my superiors for keeping RSBList was so that I would know, if these names came up, we ought to go ahead and agree to whatever impractical, unreasonable, pointless demands they cast at us, since it’d eventually get done anyway.
So, eventually I became involved in high-level systems analysis, and RSBList was still alive and well. One day, while performing some manual payment transfers that the credit card processors had borked, it occurred to me that an evil fantasy I’d conceptualized in my customer service days had suddenly become a whole lot more practical.
See, customer service reps had the ability (though obviously not the authority) to perform manual transfers of up to $100,000 between internal accounts more or less at will. It’d be impractical for a disgruntled employee to try to mess with the bank this way, though, since any sizeable transfers from customer service were automatically flagged for fraud review, and, being internal transfers, could be easily fixed. Also, every transfer would have to be done manually, and a rep could only perform so many in a given time period before the system would ask for a manager override.
As a systems guru, though, I not only had much looser restrictions on what I could transfer without raising any flags (and access to determine exactly what that number was), I also had access to the international wire transfer mainframe…and the ability to write scripts that could be run internally to quick-fix known errors.
[/LONG BACKSTORY]
Thus, the evil revenge fantasy pseudocode known as RBINHOOD was born! RBINHOOD would read directly from the data in RSBList, and pool all accounts associated with those customers. It would then access the wire transfer system, and, reading at random from a list of known U.S. and international account numbers, routing numbers, and SWIFT codes, it would, within the space of an hour, ensure that every dime of each Rich Sadisitic Bastard’s precious money was distributed to no less than 1,000 different random bank accounts across the globe.
I later conceptualized a similar script, CMMUNIST, which would access groups of 100 consecutive accounts at a time, transfer funds between them until their balances were equal to within a dollar, and move on to the next group. This would run indefinitely until somebody somewhere put a stop to it. From each according to his ability and so on, eh, comrade?
Of course, I am neither evil, deranged, or suicidal, so I was never going to do any of this. I also didn’t fancy being fired, so (until today) I never wrote down so much as a single detail of these fantasies, up to and including their names. Still, on those days when I would slave over hot servers until 3:00 a.m. to find the rounding discrepancy that resulted in two cents’ difference on a $6 million account between our interest calculations and those of some rich asshole, my thoughts would turn to good old RSBList…and I’d smile. 
I lived out mine once - I was working at a hotel (yes, a different one than the one I’m at now) - my boss was horrid. She was the GM, but the front-desk manager (my direct boss) was great. She left a few months before I did. I worked nights and one morning I just looked at my boss and said, “hey, I called Brett and he’s working tonight. I’m not coming in. I don’t really care about working here anymore, so yea…” - My boss begged me to stick around. Offered me raises, offered to get rid of the guy that caused the problems that I thought were costing us money and employees. I said that I would stay two weeks to finish training the new guy and train one more - as long as the problematic guy couldn’t be working those two weeks.
I worked with the two night guys to fix a schedule where I was on call for 40 hours, but hardly ever had to be there. She paid me the first week, and then threatened to get rid of me the second. I just went into the office, said “I know about illegal action #1 and illegal action #2 and I have no problem going to the police, the labor board, or the owners. I would like to finish my week and go home quietly, and I would appreciate it if you let me continue working the way I am.” When she agreed, I told her I was leaving anyways. I had no intention of staying, as the two were doing great, but I felt she deserved to be screwed after the treatment I had received.*
*I had been stuck working 21 hours straight on Easter, a day I requested off a month in advance, and in July I had been scheduled at 80 hours a week for three weeks…I needed the money but the only reason we were short was because she decided to go on a power trip and fire 3 out or 6 employees…
Brendon Small
Back in 1992 I quit an IT job without notice. Heck, I was just thinking about this earlier today!
I was a part time LAN admin, most time programmer, the sole support of the major front end application process for the entire division. Had been that product Guru for six years. The full time LAN admin just moved to the other division, which assumed primary control of our division’s LANs, with me as backup. I had worked with this narcisistic bitch for the whole six years previous to this.
We had a big user conference. I was there giving presentations for several days. The second day, there was a problem with one of the regional office LANs. NarcoBitch, rather than return to the office and solve the problem herself, gave the supervisor password to an untrained helpdesk moron and gave him permission to root around and see what he could do.
Third day, I’m approached and interrupted as I’m giving a presentation to 30 RO people. NarcoBitch screams at me, in front of everyone, for wrecking the LAN. I have no knowledge or idea what the fuck she’s talking about, having been at the conference the whole time.
I complain to my boss. I’m told “Sorry, but five people in her eight person unit just quit, so we can’t afford to fire her. Suck it up.”
NarcoBitch’s boss gets wind of what really happened and sends a SysM (pre-email mainframe stuff) asking for information on potential security violations. I gladly turn state’s evidence on NarcoBitch.
NarcoBitch sends a three (printed) page SysM threatening my job, my career, my personal life. To me, to my boss, to every person I remotely work with.
I complain. My hyper-feminist boss says “Tough Shit. Be a MAN and put up with it.”
I walked right out the door.
For six months, I had consulting firms calling me about filling this very specific contract using very specific software, for which I was the only trained person within 300 miles. “Oh gee sorry, I don’t think they want me back there.” I hope they never got that project working. Would have served them right.
++
Posting the problems with my current employer could fill a Pit thread to capacity. The place is a hopeless shithole of incompetence and bad management.
My plan is simple;
1> Get another job.
2> Walk in one day with bag of my work stuff. Leave on counter. Walk out.
No notice, no letter of resignation, no answering the phone when they call to ask. Nothing but silence.
Yes I have. I’m still in it… for now
I built up a very strong business for my current employer supplying creative solutions for clients who are not online savvy but wished to dange their toes in the water. I take an immense amount of pride in what I do, but this role has expanded to just about be a 24/7 position.
I have had various anxiety issues for the better part of the year due to the immense amount of stress i have been under.
So… I QUIT!
First came exhilaration, then came anger that I have been driven to this point* and then came relief and then came FEAR!
Fear was quickly remedied by attending a couple of job interviews for companies who sought me out and are the kind of companies I never dreamt would consider me for an interview, let alone hiring me! I now have 3 companies trying to offer me positions for at least 50% again what I am on now.
Best decision i have made in the recent past.
- the now much more relaxed Thren-
- yes, I know we are all masters of our own destiny and feelings but when you’re tired, overworked and feel underappreciated consistently, it’s easier to let the bastards lget you down.
The one job I’d actually call a “job” I’ve had is my current one in retail. I don’t hate it through and through, but if I was quitting and could afford to burn bridges, I’d wait for a night when I was on till closing, that someone came up to the door after the lights were off, and when they tried to open the door or get attention anyways…
I’d just stand there and laugh, and laugh, and make that little pointing-gesture Kelso did on That 70’s Show whenever someone got “burned.”
sigh It’s a good dream… 
The last job I quit was not an overall horrible job in and of itself, but there were a few outisde factors that made it completely miserable. The big one was that I spent two hours commuting each way. I live in Brooklyn, and the job was situated in Rockland County, way north and west of the city. In the mornings, I had to take the subway for an hour and then catch a company van, which I’d ride for an hour. In the evenings, I’d ride the van for a half hour, and it would drop me at the north edge of Manhattan, and then I’d have a 90-minute subway journey back to Brooklyn. I hated it so much that, during the first month, I didn’t show up one day, thinking I’d call in and quit. But I chickened out and went back in the next day, and was (rightly so) reprimanded for not phoning in that I was taking a “personal day.”
I stuck it out for nine months before I was able to take another job. The shuttle van on my way home was my least favorite part of the day, because I was stuck in traffic with my annoying coworkers, and sometimes it would fill up and I’d have to wait another hour for it to come back and pick up the overflow. (Those were fun 13-hour days. People would save seats for their friends and I’d get left behind and plot doing really nasty things to their workstations.)
My biggest fantasy, therefore, was, on my last day, to get on the shuttle van, kick my feet up on the seat in front of me, take a big bottle of Jack Daniels out of my bag, and start drinking.
Luckily, someone was actually kind enough to give me a ride home on my last day. So it never happened. But hey, we can dream!
I thought of a good one!
As a bachelorette party gift, my friends gave me an anal bead training kit. This one, for the curious:
www.1greatadultstore DOT com/Merchant2/merchant.mv?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=1&Product_Code=SE1314-00
On the day I quit, I’ll wrap up this toy and give it to an irritating Big Wig with a note that says “Thank to you, I don’t need this anymore.”
Mouse-Spouse is going to be SO disappointed
(d&R)
rm - rf /*, baby! 
I was employed by a company who had a call center with about 50 people who worked there. (I didn’t work in the call center though.) The female manager of the call center (Obcessive Co-Worker–OCW) developed a huge crush on me, and even though I told her I didn’t prefer women and she was in a relationship (she and her partner had two kids together), she insisted on pursuing me. I tried to maintain a “working relationship”, even though I should have reported her ass to HR. Another (male) employee and I began a close friendship, and OCW got incredibly jealous and would badmouth my friend to administration. The final straw came when she loudly tried to get him fired by lying through her teeth.
Since I’d already accepted another position with another company, and had given my three weeks notice, I let the shit hit the fan. My intention was to leave the company quietly, but that went out the window. I got majorily pissed, called my boss and HR and let them have ALL the documentation I had regarding OCW–dates, who was present, what was said, etc. They paid me the remaining three weeks to never come back again, and I believe they canned OCW.
I think they also revamped the entire Sexual Harrassment policy shortly thereafter.
What gender are you? Not terribly important, but you story leaves it hard to guess.
Jim
Female.
Let me prface this by saying that I hate my job, and my boss is a lazy bastard who doesn’t even do most of his job (mostly the part that involves comunicating with human resources to get us our raises (even though said raises will be retroactive, so it’s not like he’s saving the company money or anything) but some other things as well) which makes everyone else hate the job just that much more. Also he hasn’t gotten anyone to fill a postition that was left two weeks ago, despite the fact that the former employee gave 2 weeks notice, meaning he had four weeks to do something and has done nothing.
My ‘I quit fantasy’ is as follows:
I simply walk into his office and tell him “Mail me my last paycheck, because I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”
If I end up being one of two people doing my job (one that is designed to be done by 4-5 people) which looks possible now, I’ll tell him “I’m doing the work of two poeple now. Double my pay, or I’m leaving right now.” There is no way in hell he’d doublke my pay, so I’d leave, which would cause the other one person doing the job to leave. Then the place would be quite screwed.