Nine months after my last job ended, leaving me on the sidewalk during the worst recession in several generations, the contents of my old desk was mailed to me. It got me thinking of my old boss. Here's the email I just sent her:
Dear Mary,
Never let it be said that InsuranceUSA isn't making responsible, frugal use of its subscribers' funds.
Today I received the contents of my desk drawers in the mail. I'm sure the people who've had medical procedures and tests declined by InsuranceUSA would be thrilled and heartened to know that, nine months after my wrongful dismissal, you finally got every last Niki's Pizza take-out menu, stray, tarnished penny, comb, ATM receipt, vitamin pill and scrap of meaningless, useless paper back to me.
Never let it be said that Mary Moore is not there to tackle pressing issues, or that she's not tackling them in a timely fashion.
If sending me that ancient, unwanted detritus was some sort of dig at me, you missed. I'm back to work and haven't spared your spindly, tea-cosy-topped self a thought in months. Not since the last time I heard someone mispronounce a word in common usage, or scuttle a simple sentence by saying, "Well, you know what I mean!" followed by a laugh like someone starting an old gas lawnmower.
As I'm sure you didn't spare a thought for your former shaved ape, Denny Carter, who was not even competent or trustworthy enough to properly clear out a wrongly fired employee's desk.
As I'm sure you spare no thoughts. Can't spare what you don't have.
I hope the occasion of sending this old junk to me is that you've finally hired a fine, upright, Bible-reading tech-writer-QA-HTML-Web-designer who donates blood and reads to the blind, to share in the work done by your group -- work you never seemed capable of understanding. Or, maybe the garbage was mailed to me because InsuranceUSA is now selling its office furniture to stay afloat. I don't think that'd be the case. I'm sure the shell-shifting-shysters have found new and innovative ways to wrench yet more premiums from widows and orphans.
I have no doubt you're probably thriving in the hothouse of InsuranceUSA. Weeds can grow anywhere, and long outlast the flowers. I'm also very sure you're still making life difficult and miserable and unbearable with all the chaos your double-digit IQ empowers you to concoct -- like throwing confetti into a spinning ceiling fan.
I miss my former colleagues. A truer bunch of professionals, I have never known. And marvelous people, too.
You, I miss like an ingrown toenail. From your A.D.D. galloping around the office, to your Appalachian white-trash screeching out of office doors for the next poor wretch to go in and explain to you how a fork is used, or what the funny symbols on your computer screen mean, or how to work the zipper on your purse.
Nor do I miss your vicious, ham-handed politicking, or feeling embarrassed for you every time you used a patently wrong word in one of your fractured sentences in yet another miserable meeting.
Nor do I miss your cheap, scheming ways, your continuous lying, double-dealing, back-stabbing, petty, mean-girl, adolescent, fang-ridden management style. When you were the absentee landlord of eBiz, that was fine. But once you clawed your way up another rung on the ladder, your noxious, radioactive presence made my watch stop, my eyes hurt, my skin crawl, my paperclips to bend and link together for comfort. Particularly being exposed to your constant Taylortucky shouting around the office. Your graceless guffaws at jokes that weren't funny. Your total and complete and utter lack of sensitivity, humanity, empathy, compassion, common sense or simple decency.
No, I spared you not a thought until I came home from work today to find a bulky, awkward envelope waiting for me; black-bordered like death notices used to come in the mail. And there was all the old crap from my desk drawers; receiving it nine months after your incompetence, stupidity, and stone-heartedness cost me a job I quite enjoyed during the worst recession in several generations. That you could do that to me and my family speaks volume upon volumes about the tainted, feculent, canchre sore you have for a soul. And Denny "Blind Man's Bluff" Carter tasked to empty my desk, couldn't even do that right.
Well, I hope you have a fun-filled and fulfilling 2010. That your Blackberry is never silent, and that you don't ruin too many lives as you conduct your career at InsuranceUSA like a cage-fighting-cannibal.
Just please know that the fading memory I have of you is that of a bizarre, in-over-her-head incompetent-who-fools-no-one, with the vocabulary of a cocker spaniel, the tact of a mortician, the compassion of a Supermax guard, and the lizard-brained-unreasoning nature of a fanatic.
You see, I don't need profanity to tell someone to go to hell. That was your first clue that Denny Carter was lying through his teeth about the incident that got me fired.
I am back to work, and praise whatever demented gawd there is, I don't work for someone like you.
With Revulsion,
Whetam Gnauckweirst
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