50 Ways to Leave Your Employer
(Apologies to Paul Simon, the song writer, not the late senator who wore bow ties)
Conventional wisdom says you don't leave (quit) a job until you've found another one. Well, maybe 20 years ago. In today's job market, you'd better get your butt in gear and get out when the situation calls for it.
I could tell something was up when my boss, the person who hired me, was forced to resign through no fault of her own. Then a little mole-like man showed up one day to "straighten things out organizationally." (Read: get rid of certain people who didn't figure with The Plan, whatever THAT was.) During his first day on the job, I found him sniffing around the break room. He was the only person in there until I walked in. I could have been standing there wearing just my Maidenform bra and he wouldn't have noticed me. I introduced myself to him and he peered at me with his beady little eyes through thick glasses. He grunted; mumbled something about the coffee and left.
He ignored me for two weeks. My projects were dying as if he had sprayed them with Round Up. The door to his office was usually closed and I could hear his voice and the voice of my immediate supervisor from behind it. I imagined him sharpening his hatchet and plotting the demise of my job and the jobs of my co-workers.
I called in sick the next morning and spent the day on the phone with my HR colleagues from other companies. We all agreed. It was time for Frieda to make her exit.
The next day at work I spent the morning getting together all the files and documents I wanted to take with me. I sent the files to my home computer and carried the documents to my car during lunch. Mole Man's door remained closed. At 2:30, I delivered a copy of my four weeks' notice of resignation to the president's secretary and then presented my immediate supervisor with the original. My supervisor played it cool and then excused herself and left her office. I noticed Mole Man had left his office too so I planted another copy of my notice on his desk.
My supervisor returned, told me that they would pay me for two weeks if I left the premises immediately. I looked out the window for about 30 seconds and then pointed out that my notice was for FOUR weeks, not two. She excused herself again and returned a short time later with the Mole Man and the VP. She repeated their offer; I repeated mine and asked to speak to the president. They told me that he was not available and I was to leave and to not return on Monday.
Then the whole thing turned Kafkaesque. I went back to my desk to find that I had been locked out of my computer. When I tried to use my office key fob on my way to the bathroom, I found that it was deactivated. I managed to get back to my desk and retrieve the few personal things I'd left as decoys. I said goodbye to my co-worker and left. (She was let go without warning the following week.)
Not only did I escape from my job with my dignity intact, but I received two weeks' severance pay with benefits and 12 weeks' of unemployment compensation.
Just get yourself free.
Conventional wisdom says you don't leave (quit) a job until you've found another one. Well, maybe 20 years ago. In today's job market, you'd better get your butt in gear and get out when the situation calls for it.
I could tell something was up when my boss, the person who hired me, was forced to resign through no fault of her own. Then a little mole-like man showed up one day to "straighten things out organizationally." (Read: get rid of certain people who didn't figure with The Plan, whatever THAT was.) During his first day on the job, I found him sniffing around the break room. He was the only person in there until I walked in. I could have been standing there wearing just my Maidenform bra and he wouldn't have noticed me. I introduced myself to him and he peered at me with his beady little eyes through thick glasses. He grunted; mumbled something about the coffee and left.
He ignored me for two weeks. My projects were dying as if he had sprayed them with Round Up. The door to his office was usually closed and I could hear his voice and the voice of my immediate supervisor from behind it. I imagined him sharpening his hatchet and plotting the demise of my job and the jobs of my co-workers.
I called in sick the next morning and spent the day on the phone with my HR colleagues from other companies. We all agreed. It was time for Frieda to make her exit.
The next day at work I spent the morning getting together all the files and documents I wanted to take with me. I sent the files to my home computer and carried the documents to my car during lunch. Mole Man's door remained closed. At 2:30, I delivered a copy of my four weeks' notice of resignation to the president's secretary and then presented my immediate supervisor with the original. My supervisor played it cool and then excused herself and left her office. I noticed Mole Man had left his office too so I planted another copy of my notice on his desk.
My supervisor returned, told me that they would pay me for two weeks if I left the premises immediately. I looked out the window for about 30 seconds and then pointed out that my notice was for FOUR weeks, not two. She excused herself again and returned a short time later with the Mole Man and the VP. She repeated their offer; I repeated mine and asked to speak to the president. They told me that he was not available and I was to leave and to not return on Monday.
Then the whole thing turned Kafkaesque. I went back to my desk to find that I had been locked out of my computer. When I tried to use my office key fob on my way to the bathroom, I found that it was deactivated. I managed to get back to my desk and retrieve the few personal things I'd left as decoys. I said goodbye to my co-worker and left. (She was let go without warning the following week.)
Not only did I escape from my job with my dignity intact, but I received two weeks' severance pay with benefits and 12 weeks' of unemployment compensation.
Just get yourself free.
posted by Frieda Lipschitz (Audrey Choden) at Thursday, May 26, 2005
0 comments
