How I’m gonna Quit my Job without giving 2 weeks notice…

So I have a job that I don’t particularly like. And when I say that I don’t really like it, I mean that I loathe it. I don’t know how other people do it, but sitting on my ass staring at a computer screen talking to infinitely stupid people on the phone is not something I am made for. It’s what producers do… I am way too cool for that stuff. To top it off; It is pretty boring and I feel like pulling all of my hairs out more often than I do when writing. But at least they are paying me better than I pay myself. So for now, I’ll stick it out.

And at least I can daydream about the most bodacious (I have been informed that I use the word ‘Awesome’ way too much and should perhaps think about mixing it up) way of quitting.

Here’s how it’ll go down.

Except for some hushed voices answering their phone and the usual gossip coming from the corner where the Russian ladies sit who will never learn to shut up, the office is unusually quiet for a change. The copier is making some copies, and people are banging away on their keyboards. The symphonic drone of all of these sounds smacked together makes it seem even more as though time doesn’t want to hurry the fuck up.

Until a phone starts ringing on the desk of the manager. Most people don’t notice it, but to me the sound is deafening. This is it. The moment I’ve been waiting for. I can feel my blood starting to race as my heart picks up pace.

I sit back in my chair, pretending not to watch him as he’s talking on the phone. I know who he’s talking to. In fact, it’ll be hard to stifle my laugh as I see his face growing worried and him trying to throw an inconspicuous glance in my direction. But I am working – or at east pretending to-, so I never meet his gaze.

It’s not difficult to imagine what’s being said on the phone, mostly because I wrote every single word that’s spoken to him right now. His face grows more worried and he seems puzzled what to do. The conversation all in all can’t have lasted more than 2 minutes and would have been shorter if he had been quicker on the uptake. When he hangs up, after what seems to me like an hour, he just sits there and states blankly into space. It’s all going according to plan.

Then he gets up, shakes it off and whispers a few hushed words with one of our colleagues. They exchange a few worried glances and a few of them leave the room. I sit back and wait for what will come.

20 minutes later 2 dark cars pull up in front of the building. Their tires screech as they hit the curb coming to a dramatic standstill right in front of the door. A couple of men in suits jump out and run in. Doors fly open, and from the corner of my eye I can see them coming.

Fast as lightening (and – because we’re talking about me – graceful as a gazelle) I jump up and leap over my desk taking extra care to kick my computer off it as I leap forward to the next desk, desperate to find a way out. The men in their impeccable suits don’t waste a second. They jump after me and we all swarm over the desks, accidentally kicking over every windows computer we can find in a mad cat-and-mouse play.

My colleagues sit by stunned, trying to avoid the leaping agents. Which of those fires the first shot is hard to tell in the chaos, but the window shatters spraying glass all through the office. It’s a miracle no one got hurt.

As for me, I all of the sudden have a way out. I bound for the hole in the wall, ready to leap 2 stories down onto the van that is so conveniently parked under the window. Except I really shouldn’t taken my eye of that hunky, muscular agent who somewhat resembles someone from the television… His flying kick sends me straight into a wall.

But I’m an international criminal on the run from the law. I’ve had worse than this on any average Tuesday morning. I just laugh it off. Spit out some blood and inform them they should have brought some back up. The lead agent, who now people look at him, really does look like some actor. (must be his brother) just laughs and pulls a gun. But I’m up already and on the move. I grab his gun and smack him in the face with it.

A fight so badass and gory it will put Jacky Chan to shame for thinking fights should be funny will break out. There will be blood, though unfortunately it will mostly be mine. There’s only so much a girl can do against 10 special agents from Interpol.

For a minute, I see an opening and make my way to the window. But so did that other guy who suspiciously looks like that weapons expert from tv. He shoots just as I get ready to jump. Blood sprays everywhere. There’s so much it makes Reservoir Dogs seem like a fairy tale another shot is fired…. More blood. And I collapse to my knees whilst uttering the most powerful “Noooo” ever uttered by the defeated hero.

Seconds later my face is in the carpet and the cold steel of cuffs closes around my wrists. The lead agent, who now we’re thinking about it kinda looks like Hercules from that series in the early 90’s… But he got fat and old, kicks me in my side once more just for good reference and told me I should have run for it when I had the chance. But I got complacent. And it was only a matter of time, in the end everyone gets caught. It’s a line that should distinctly remind people of Catch me if you Can, but they’re too busy staring at my blood sprayed over their clothes to notice.

I get dragged off like a dead cow, bleeding over all the carpets, screaming like a madman. The lead agents stays behind to inform the scared and stunned people there that I’m an International arms dealer (I took arms of people and sold them to those born without them for hard cash) who had been lying low here for months, but now they were finally on my trail and they couldn’t have caught me without the help of every single one of them. He instructs them that since this is a covert Interpol operation, they are forbidden by International and federal law to talk about this. A damage expert will sort out the damage, and they will most likely never hear from me again.

And with that, they’re all gone as fast as they came. I get thrown in a van, and they drive off sirens screaming through the cold air.

And they will true to Hercules’ words, never hear from me again.

And that’s how I’ll quit my Job without giving 2 weeks notice.


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