h a l f b a k e r yI heartily endorse this product and/or service.
add, search, annotate, link, view, overview, recent, by name, best, random
news, help, about, links, report a problem
browse anonymously,
or get an account
and write.
register,
|
|
|
Are you tired of your job? Had a absolute gutful of your mean, pennypinching boss? Need a change? Wanna make an exit that people remember?
I QUIT! will organise the exit you desire.
Call A Medic!
An ambulance pulls up at your workplace, sirens, lights, paramedics, gurney, confusion
and all. They rush into your office/cubicle and help you to a supine position on the gurney... oxygen mask goes on, BP and cardio monitors are hooked up, electrodes attached and they wheel you, at high speed, out of the building, shouting, "Make way! We have a sick man/woman here! He/she is sick of work!"
Harps & Flowers
A white stretch limo disgorges 6 "fairies" (comely young ladies and men) dressed in white, vestal robes, strewing white rose petals and strumming harps as they go. They surround you, lift you bodily from your chair and carry you to the limo, leaving individually wrapped chocolates for your friends and acquaintances and little leaflets, explaining that you have "Gone to a better place."
Action Deluxe
Six armed men rappel from an unmarked black helicopter, form into two lines and jogmarch to your workstation, handcuff and hood you and hustle you out of the building. They then zipline back up to the chopper, winch you in and whisk you away.
Call to negotiate a package to suit your budget. Discounts may apply if you book through our associated headhunting agency.
Another way to go . . .
http://www.elecdesi....cfm?ArticleID=6107
. . . out with a bang. [neelandan, Oct 04 2004, last modified Oct 05 2004]
and another..."go out in style"
http://www.halfbake...ging_20Resignations
[po, Oct 04 2004, last modified Oct 05 2004]
Letters etc.
http://www.i-resign...etters/default.asp?
[PainOCommonSense, Oct 04 2004, last modified Oct 05 2004]
[link]
|
| |
Let's not forget the Dalek Destruction package; where
several surprisingly fleet metal mechanoids chase you
through the building with their unmistakable battle cry. |
|
| |
I like harps and flowers [ Gone to a better place ] but I'd pay good money for [ Action Deluxe ]. I work for an outfit that makes ruggedized computer equipment for the military, and I can imagine the meeting afterwards......" Which program do you think they were with ? " |
|
| |
Of course, they may just be absorbed in trying to see if any of our equipment was in the copter..... |
|
| |
Would you have to go on national TV, whining that you had "lost your ticket in a parking lot?" |
|
| |
Or you could just tell the boss where to stick his job like most of us do. |
|
| |
I think I'd prefer the second option, please. Within the next 3 hours :) |
|
| |
How about a pregnant woman in the lobby shouting your name again and again... really loudly? |
|
| |
What of a slight variation of the second one, where you're carried away on a shield by scantily-clad maidens of Valhalla? |
|
| |
It's all a bit too showy for me. My ideal "I QUIT" service would involve me going to the fax machine with a sheaf of papers. Somehow, the service would vanish me away from the fax, from the office, without anyone noticing, to a sunny pool with a swim up bar, for a number of weeks. About 16, I think. |
|
| |
While I'm getting bronzed and blotto, my employers should be getting increasingly disgruntled with my non-appearance and failure to answer the telephone calls from HR. Eventually, probably just as I'm reaching for my fifth gin sling of the day, envoys from my work will arrive at my door. They will discover an army of milk bottles on my doorstep, a letterbox stuffed with newspapers and no answer from my doorbell. The police would no doubt be notifed. And when my employers and the emergency services batter down the door, they will be presented with a neatly handwritten post it note, placed centrally on the hall mirror reading |
|
| |
"you can stick your job up your arse." |
|
| |
"It could be a ruse, sir, to throw us off the murderer's scent." |
|
| |
Even better. Oh yes. Especially if I was quitting the police. |
|
| |
I'd like to suggest:
Big Top
A circus* of clowns tooter into the office, maniacally meandering, honking horns, clashing cymbals, waving madly and rollie-pollie all around.
In perfect synchronization the converge on you. They each produce a miniature comedy tricycle from their oversized pockets, pick you up on to their shoulders and collectively mount their trikes. Pedalling furiously they whisk you away. Your former colleagues are still in shock as the lead clown trumpets: "He's coming with us 'cos had enough of working with you bozos!" |
|
| |
Maybe this could be paid-as-you-go, before the event. You could pay it off, and have it sitting up your sleeve for years. It would certainly make the most menial job slightly more tolerable. |
|
| |
//"He's coming with us 'cos had enough of working with you bozos!"// |
|
| |
I kinda miss [beauxeault] actually... |
|
| |
Harps and flowers would be nice, but like I always say, leaving from the basement of a building is anti-climactic. I think I need action deluxe. Thanks, [UnaBubba]. |
|
| |
There is, of course, the danger that your employer might use the same techniques for a “You’re fired!” service. You’re sitting at your desk when suddenly you’re surrounded by comely young people with white robes and harps. At first you’re intrigued, but soon realize that something is wrong when they hand you a partial pay check, then sweep you away to the front door and “escort” you off the premises. |
|
| |
My suggestion would be to hire
some tough looking New Yorker to
come in to your boss's office and
say "HEY YOUSE! I QUIT YOU
[insert random crude
excalimtory]!!!!!!! this has been a
message from, [insert name here]."
This is a joke, to all you New
Yorkers. I think you all are nice
people, and don't smell THAT bad. |
|
| |
twisting idea.. made me think of a cheff and his asisstants making a glorious entry, sliding through the cubes with a huge birthday cake, while shouting your name and calling you cheff, or "segnor"/"segnora", and urging you to rejoin them as a cook. All your colleagues would think every piece of the scenary makes sense : the cook, the birthday cake, the asisstants, their calling you cheff, and, it goes without saying, your exit. Only after a few moments, confusion and doubt would start to sneek in, and the yet unanswered question "Has he/she just quit?" would arise.. |
|
| |
I really love this idea, especially since I really hate my job. But as for the "Call a Medic" package, I'm not sick of work per se, only sick of working for these bastards. Oh, and what do you think the chances are of having the cost be tax-deductable? |
|
| |
Could also be modified to a be a "get me the hell out of here service". To get you away from those endless situations like meeting your wifes parents or just need to hurry and get away. Good one. I like it.. |
|
| |
Lovely. I can imagine the training for the performers: how to deal with things going wrong, bribe or bully your way in if necessary, etc. |
|
| |
Perhaps if you wanted to work both sides of the deal, you could offer a counter-strike service for bosses who have just heard someone let it slip that one of their employees is going to quit spectacularly. |
|
| |
Potentially apocryphal, but still wonderful, story from college: supposedly some folks who were fed up with their horrible landlord, and had decided to forfeit their security deposit in the name of revenge, painted absolutely every surface of the inside of their house flat black. Windows, walls, carpets, appliances... |
|
| |
I like it a lot. But what are the employees of this service to do when they become disgruntled? They'd actually have to work overtime to quit! |
|
| |
I doubt that any boss would care enough to hire a "you're fired!" service, or even to go to any sort of trouble. Like George Carlin said..."Walking papers? What walking papers? I never got any walking papers. You know what I got? A guy came around to my desk and said 'GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE!'" |
|
| |
Any employee who wants to quit and make a statement might use such a service. Even employees of the service perhaps? Ok, maybe too mind-bending... |
|
| |
"Is Mr UnaBubba here? - I'm from the
Lottery - the Gigantic Winnings
Unit"
"Yay! I'll never work
again!"
<scowls from
ex-co-workers> |
|
| |
I had this little voice in my head awhile back, and it said, “you gotta quit, you gotta quit.”
And it went on and on like that; it wouldn’t stop. And the worst thing was: it sounded like Bart Simpson. It was just so bloody persistent I thought I was going crazy. Finally, at wits end, I stormed into my boss’s office and said, “Dammit, I quit!”
And...
Ahhhh...
All calm and quiet.
Two days later, I was lying on the sofa in the middle of the day, as peaceful as you please, thinking that quitting was the best thing I’d ever done, when the voice began again, precisely the same: “you gotta quit, you gotta quit.” And then I had a horrible insight. I realized—my God!—it wasn’t work I was supposed to quit... |
|
| |
I'd like to be taken Out by The FBI for illegal software download on my office terminal, that should cause a chaos in mad software download from all terminals. a good way to leave! |
|
| |
How does one who [hypothecially] works for the "I QUIT"
consultancy quit him/herself ? |
|
| |
I dunno, but its gotta be good! |
|
| |
Does this still work if you are employed in retail management? Perhaps an entourage of camera wielding people could follow me out clicking away as I am explaining why the paticular chain who employs me really sucks, only to have an official looking chap make a press statement as I leave the building announcing my resignation. That would be aces! |
|
| |
This could make a _really_ great short story. |
|
| |
Rest of workplace slowly quiets as
handsome man in uniform strides
confidently across the shop floor,
picks you up and carries you off
cradled in his arms. Imposters
planted in office begin the hoots
of congratulations. Since they are
pros the others cannot resist
cheering as well. |
|
| |
//How does one who [hypothecially]
works for the "I QUIT" consultancy quit
him/herself ?// |
|
| |
I'll bet they get some sort of company
discount. + |
|
| |
[sartep], membership of the team is like membership of the HB. You think you can quit any time but the monkey is way too entrenched. |
|
| |
The Halfbakery? I can quit whenever I
want, I just don't want to. I also just
happened to be here when you posted
that last comment. Funny thing that
random timing. |
|
| |
This idea is more suited to the spur of the moment, "I've had enough and I'm off" decision, so + from me, but for those who have already secured employment elsewhere or who have just won the lottery, I would recommend working off your notice period in the way most guaranteed to stress
out your boss that you can think of that is compatible with minimal effort for yourself. Studying the disciplinary rules thoroughly is a good starting point. |
|
| |
Any voluenteers to really do this for me here in the next few months? |
|
| |
Television presenter walks into a
meeting holding a clipboard and
wearing an improbably generic
disguise as a water delivery person
or the like. Laughs and explains
your entire tenure was just a funny
bit for a hidden camera show.
Nearly collapsing with contagious
laughter they, arm around
shoulders of your boss, point to
inanimate objects and explain that
they are actually cameras. You
laugh and shake hands with your
boss and congratulate them on
being a good sport. You leave with
the presenter... |
|
| |
I ordered your service #2 (harps and angels) last week but I'm still waiting to be carried bodily out of the door. Do I have to pay you first? |
|
| |
Due to unprecedented demand from staff in your organisation we are swamped with requests. If you have seen some of your coworkers being escorted to the street with an archive box of personal effects then you'll understand that our operative, the HR manager in your department, is doing what he can to facilitate dramatic exits from the firm. Go kicking and screaming, I say. |
|
| |
Sincerely,
UB40 this year. |
|
| |
I'm thinking a man with a large black bag comes in to the office pulls out a large gun and rattles off a convincing spray of blanks at you and your collegues. At which point you pull out your own 9mm and start knocking off blanks back at him. After chasing him out the building your co-workers should discover a series of building blue prints and Russian documents. |
|
| |
Tarquin Fintim limbim bostock fatang fatang ole bisquit barrell! Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho! |
|
| |
Don't mind him, he's from Barcelona. |
|
| |
Burly men in expensive suits walk in purposefully. They restrain you with duct tape. Two of them carry you out to a shiny black Rolls and throw you in the truck (it's padded and they're gentle). In thick Italian accents, they announce "He fuckin' quits." They all hand out "I QUIT" business cards in a threatening manner and then beat it before the cops show up. |
|
| |
In the middle of a meeting, you start - mid sentence - to
talk backwards (according to a script you've previously
practiced). A suited person walks in - backwards - and you
stand up and appear to order him out (backwards... right,
you get it). You both start arguing in reverse, your tone
moving from outright hostility to mild irritation. Finally,
you forcibly give him some important looking papers and
walk out with him, heel first. |
|
| |
That would be a lot of fun. I have visions of a Red Dwarf episode. |
|
| |
I think I'd like a combo on the first, the second and the third option with a little fireworks in the sky as I am whisked off in a chopper in which the fairies hanging on ropes on other choppers spraying white roses in the sky while playing the instruments. Plus I'd like an ultra loud speaker for the music. Then all of my associates receive a gift basket then all the associated I never liked in the first place will be left with rotten eggs with a note "All you deserve". Then to the boss I detest, I would leave a dead rat wrapped in a magnificent gold paper. In the box would be another note saying "I found your brother in my basement, unfortunately I happened to smack him with a tennis racket. If I had only seen his face then, I would have thought it was you". Or "So long sucker!" without the rat? What do you think? |
|
| |
A procession of kimono-clad asians march into your place of work. They hail you, with much kowtowing, as their long-lost Emperor. They assist you into an ornate sedan chair and with a "BOOOOO-OOOOOO-OOOOOONG" on a one of those huge cymbal thingies they trot out, ignoring the open mouths of your co-workers. |
|
| |
[denathor]--I think you're bitter, maybe a little too bitter. Quit now before you wind up on the news, why don'tcha. |
|
| |
I'm betting [denathor-etc] works for the US Postal Service. |
|
| |
I think [smugcomputerguy] is going for the "They're coming to take you away..haha" option. |
|
| |
Could be good. Four burly male nurses (possibly bearing huge syringes - for show) come in and quietly ask your colleagues where you are sitting. They grab you, straitjacket you, tape your mouth saying "Come along now Mr/s Quitter, we're taking you back to your lovely soft room" and on the way out they tell your ex-coworkers "Sad really, s/he's completely dillusional. Thinks his/her name is [your name] and that s/he's a [insert your job description]. We been after him/her for [however long you've been working there] ever since s/he escaped." Should make everyone more than a little uneasy, especially if you've snogged/shagged any of your colleagues. |
|
| |
sp. "Tarquin Fintim-Limbim-Whimbim-Limbim-Bus Stop-F'Tang-F'Tang-Olé-Biscuit-Barrel" (Silly Party). Despite polling no votes at all (not a sausage, bugger all), he refused to contemplate quitting, and led the voting hall in a rousing chorus of "Climb Every Mountain". |
|
| |
It's a Monty Python sketch. |
|
| |
<bonnnng> "Bring out your dead!" |
|
| |
The gong made me think of 200 armed "warriors" of the Chinese Imperial Guard jogmarching into your workplace at the song of a gong, forming a guard of honour to the door and bearing you out of the room in a sedan chair, without a word. A second gong sounds and the guard of honour pair off and jog out, leaving your workmates staring after you in bewilderment. |
|
| |
You leave work as per normal. That night, a team of trained professionals sneak into the building, remove everything from your office, plaster over the doors and windows, and paint them to match the surrounding walls. As a finishing touch they remove all records of your being employed there, and change all maps of the building so that your room is not present. Co-workers return the next day to find that not are you not there, you never worked there, and indeed the office you worked from isn't even there. |
|
| |
Re: The Disappearing Act... Your employer eventually goes out of business, paying floorspace rent for office space that no longer exists? |
|
| |
Ordering one of these for an unsuspecting colleague would make quiet days at work more memorable... |
|
| |
A hearse drives up, six pall bearers carry the coffin into your office. They open the coffin, and pull out a foam headstone, which they place on the floor of the office, and toss a bit of dirt in front of it to resemble a burial plot. |
|
| |
The pall bearers put you in the coffin, and slip you a tranquilizer. They then carry the coffin down to the lobby, and lay you out with flowers. A catering service, and a minister arrive to perform a rousing eulogy which starts with "He always said you guys were working him to death..." |
|
| |
THE ABDUCTION: A blimp in the shape of a flying saucer hovers over the building, and a troop of midgets in green alien suits are lowered down by fishing line under a spotlight. They scurry to your cubicle, shooting any interlopers with tasers. |
|
| |
A second group of men in black commando suits comes through the window to retrieve you secretly, and provides the aliens with a dummy you. The aliens take the dummy you to the boss's office, and performs an alien autopsy, which finishes by making your dummy into a woman (if not one already) inserting an alien fetus into your body, and stitching you back up. |
|
| |
The aliens then carry the dummy you to the roof, where they accidentally drop it off the side, scurry about in a panic, pull out a huge "beam weapon" which melts the dummy into a puddle of wax, and the aliens fly off as erratically as a blimp allows. |
|
| |
The next day, you can show up to work with a silvery lump on your forehead, acting like nothing happened, and telling everyone you feel fine, but want to quit so you can focus your life energy on being a foster parent... |
|
| |
I like your alien abduction story. However, it's going to make you hard to employ for the future. |
|
| |
I'd rather a band that came in one morning (preferably a Monday), serenaded the boss with a rousing rendition of 'I Don't Like Mondays' while you 'shoot' (using a dummy gun) down your mates (who are in on it) to the song. Once the song is over you and the rest of the band walk out while everyone, including the people who had been 'shot' stand, clap and cheer... |
|
| |
Go out for lunch. When "you" return to work, it is an actor, whom you have trained for months to recognize your coworkers, know your job, etc. He carries on as if he were you, sitting at your desk, answering your phone, addressing your coworkers as you would, and doing your job (perhaps better than you yourself did). Do this on a day where your afternoon is filled with maximum interactions with coworkers, bosses, vendors, customers, whatever. At the end of the day, "you" send out an email to everyone "you" saw in the afternoon, saying you don't quite feel yourself. Neither you nor "you" go back the next day, or ever. |
|
| |
Perhaps for even more confusion, you show up at some point to take a meeting with "you", acting under a different name and refusing to recognize all the people who ask you "Who is that lunatic at your desk..." |
|
| |
Darnit [squeak] I was going to suggest that, like the film (the Muse?) with Sharon Stone in. I'l have to think of something rubbish on the spot now. |
|
| |
During your final month, or longer if you can, start changing the type of clothes you wear, and use stage make-up to make you look older each day, complete with greying / receeding hair and a stooped walk. |
|
| |
Start talking about the good old days, how things were much easier before these confounded computers and them web nets. Reminisce about Larry the old security guard that left in '68. |
|
| |
On your last day you have 2 options, either fake a heart attack (Option 1 'call a medic') or declare that you are retiring and try to claim a pension and get a gold watch. |
|
| |
Why can't you muster up the courage to do it yourself? |
|
| |
I've fired more employers than you'll probably ever have, pal. |
|
| |
For situations where you hate not just your boss but also all of your co-workers too, you could have the 'National Emergency'.
Half a dozen black suited, secret service types pull up in an armoured limousine and stride purposefully through the office to your desk.
"DrBob? We've come from the president/prime minister/whoever. The balloon's going up and we've come to take you to the bunker."
You are then escorted urgently, but respectfully, to the limo and, as soon as it drives out of sight, a van around the corner starts cranking out the air-raid siren. |
|
| |
How about something that wouldn't get you sued? |
|
| |
And the fun in that is where [Zus]? |
|
| |
I think a big group of around 200 revelling Afghans, each toting an AK-47, or bazooka, come gallopping into the office, setting fire to any flags they can get hold of on the way, all shooting off their weapons and shouting "Allah Akhbar!". They pile into your office, all noise and dust, wrest you from your seat, before lofting you into the air to be carried off as some kind of unspecified war hero. |
|
| |
There's a lot to like about that one, [zen_tom]. |
|
| |
Recently, on Australian TV, an actor dressed as Osama bin Laden paid a visit to Jack "Jihad" Thomas, who fell foul of authorities because he supposedly visited bin Laden in Afghanistan. |
|
| |
He's basically under house arrest and was even forced to return from a seaside holiday with his family, when the local spooks gat a curfew order over him. He was at first shocked then extremely amused when he realised it was all a great big "piss-take" by the guys from "The Chaser's War On Everything." |
|
| |
Surely the only way to make these truly perfect would be to make them the last thing you ever bill the company credit card for? |
|
| |
Brilliant. If the muse strikes me I shall pin it down and put up a more imaginative comment here. + |
|
| |
One wonders if the third service could be used to weasel a kidnapping bribe out of your workplace as a bonus. |
|
| |