My favorite two words. There's something that makes me feel high when I quit a job. It's better than drugs. It's my favorite feeling.
My first job ever; Innocent Addicts relief fund. It was a telemarking scam that I somehow got involved in when I was 17. An Innocent Addict is a baby addicted to drugs in the womb. We make phone calls and ask people to donate, and to save innocent pre-born children. I believe we called straight out of the phone book. I got all my friends from high school to join me. We also were taking donations for "Project Cuddle". Project cuddle was supposedly a program to comfort children during domestic abuse. Let's say dad kicked mom's ass so he's going to jail, but mom is on crack so the kid can't be left with her. It sounds bad but project cuddle is here to the rescue. The sheriff has a stuffed animal to give the kid as they put the child in the cop car. This helps to make everything better.
I remember the big boiler room. It seemed like there was a hundred cubicles with phones in this room. Then there was a room up above for the boss to listen in on all the calls. During the training session a totally random, shady looking, man barged into our training session and started yelling at us. He was telling us that he doesn't want anyone lying to the customers!!
I hadn't thought about lying to the customers until that point.
Long story short this job sucked. We quit and bought beer and got drunk. The company showed up in the paper a little later as a complete fraud, they had stolen millions of dollars from people.
The point is I hate jobs and I love quitting. And I love hanging out with friends and getting drunk.
After that I got a job at the Marriott Towers. This was a high rise building in a retirement community. Really old people. I worked as a waiter, I was 17. I had a big thick bowl cut, I loved the beatles and the bowl cut was my favorite hair cut.
I remember an old man telling me that he wished he had my hair.
-------side-note: I'm really having trouble writing here, for some reason it's a struggle. It's boring. The resistance in my head is fucking with me. OK back to what ever the fuck I was trying to communicate.-------
Our boss was a bitch. Nothing was right. We clocked in and clocked out. I loved smoke breaks. Some cute girls worked there. Drinking before work was fun. The kitchen smelled terrible. My best friend Christian worked with me. I had no drivers license because my license was suspended when I got busted for LSD at age 15. I had to ride with Christian.
We told the boss that we had to be scheduled together. The boss reluctantly did it.
One day after work Christian and I decided to leave through the emergency exit. The alarm went off. We ran to our car. As we left we saw an ambulance and fire truck coming up the street with their sirens. Apparently the building had to be evacuated. We called in sick the next day. The bitch boss lined up all of the staff the following day, We were not there, and chewed everyone out because she knew one of them was responsible.
Christian and I would call in sick together all the time. We said one time that the car broke down so we both couldn't make it. Then we went and drove reckless. That was one of our favorite pass times. "Hey Christian, do you want to go drive reckless?" He would always say yes.
I remember we ditched our SAT prep classes to drive reckless. One of the classic maneuvers was the "Rockford turn". We would find a steep driveway and pull up it. Christian would throw the car in reverse, slam the steering wheel right, make the car do a 180% skid, and then throw it into forward and screech off. Just like the rock ford files.
When I finally got my license I almost killed Christian, Evan, and myself breaking the speed record at the saddleback shortcut. 65 mph. Then I lost control of the vehicle and we went sideways towards the hill, then sideways towards the cliff. We flew right between to huge trees and over the cliff. All you could see were huge weeds as we went down the side of the hill. I thought my life was over, but somehow we drove out with only a flat tire. I told my mom I ran over a nail.
Anyways, I wanted to have the spring break off from work, so I could party. I called in and told the boss my grandma had a heart attack. I couldn't make it for the week. The boss called my mom and asked how my grandma was. I got busted.
Mom, saved my job. I still called in sick. The Boss said, "Duke, we have got you scheduled only one day a week, and you still can't make it. I think it's time we part ways and, you can tell your friend Christian."
It felt great. Almost as good as quitting.