KungFuMike.net
KungFuMike.net

10:30 am -- You're Hired. 12:00 pm -- I Quit - May 9, 2007

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Last Wednesday, I interviewed for a new job at a small office in Pasadena. The owner, with whom I interviewed, was really nice, and we spent about an hour talking about my background, work history and the specifics of the job. I left feeling like I had nailed the interview, and that there was no way in hell I wouldn't get the job. Contrary to what you might think of me from my writing, I am a fucking phenomenal interviewer. Well, I'm just really good at selling myself, regardless of the context. You're reading this, aren't you? PWNED!

On Friday, I received an email from the owner saying he wanted to bring me on board. In that email was an offer that I thought was far too low for someone of my caliber. I responded with a counter $10,000 higher, and he accepted without question, citing the indisputable fact that I was "well worth the extra money." We decided that he would send me an amended offer letter over the weekend, and that I would show up at the office on Monday morning to get started. I was thrilled -- three months of being happily unemployed and writing my face off were at an end, but this was a great chance for me to stack some funds at a real job that still allowed me enough free time to write, drink and fornicate at my leisure. I spent the weekend celebrating my newfound cash cornucopia by drinking margaritas, lying in bed, and getting phenomenal congratulatory blowjobs from a gorgeous mulatto girl. I know, it was hell.

Sunday afternoon rolled around, and a quick log in to my email account revealed no offer letter. Unphased, I decided that I would still show up at the office the next morning, as he would surely have my offer letter together along with the rest of my new employment paperwork for me to sign. I put together the suit, shirt and tie that I was going to wear the next day and got the 3 hours of restless sleep that I usually get the day before starting a new job. Contrary to what you might think of me from my writing, I still get uneasy about a few things; heights, hospitals and new jobs. Other than that, I am a pillar of stability.

Stop laughing.

I strolled into the office on Monday, half nervous from not knowing what to expect on my first day, uncomfortable because I hadn't really worn a suit in three months, and a little jittery from being overly caffeinated. I shook hands with my new boss and asked him if he had the paperwork for me to go over and sign. He said that he had everything sitting on his desk in his office, and that I could go ahead and fill it out after he sat me and Beverly, the other new hire, down for a brief orientation in the greeting room; a small room with Earth toned walls, dark, homogeneous carpeting and what would soon be Beverly's secretarial station.

I couldn't quite get over the way my new boss looked. Parted black hair, goatee, beer belly, nervous smile...he was the like the Mexican version of David Brent from The Office. I mean, if I went to Taco Bell and ordered a Beef MexiBrent, they would shove this guy into a paper bag with some fire sauce and stuff him through the drive through window.

Almost as if it was on cue, Beverly walked through the front door. If I had to choose five words to describe Beverly, they would be -- Mexican, mullet, mongoloid, frumpy and FUPA. I barely contained my laughter as I shook her hand and sat down on the black leather couch in the cramped greeting room to begin my training.


Beverly, my co-worker

What happened next is still a mystery to me. Beverly and I sat on the couch ready to take notes, and my boss sat across from us in an executive computer chair that he had dragged out from his office. He sat right in front of me with his legs crossed and spoke about everything...except the job. We never spoke about the job, anything remotely related to the job, or even the industry that we would be working in. "Well, when I used to work in television" or "Well, when I used to work in radio" prefaced every statement that drooled out of his mouth. Everything was disjointed; I felt like I was talking to a guy who just minutes before had woken from a decade-long coma. My eyes glazed over as the frustration and boredom overpowered the coffee pulsing through my veins. I forced myself to pretend to take notes so he wouldn't notice my eyes blinking to retain focus every thirty seconds. I started getting angry with myself, upset that I hadn't even signed my employment paperwork yet and I was already feeling trapped. Was I that broken of a human being? I couldn't help but think to myself that this guy went beyond just looking like David Brent, he fucking embodied David Brent in every way. Oh my God, was I the real life Tim Canterbury?!

After what seemed like hours into his oppressively useless monologue, my boss' Blackberry rang. As he answered, I snuck a peek at the wall clock behind me. 10:45 am.

Only one hour had passed. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

By the time the wall clock read 5 pm, I looked like Robert DeNiro in Awakenings, pre-treatment. Only maybe one of every ten sentences out of my boss' mouth made it past my brain atrophy. "You know, the couch you're sitting on came from my office when I was working for Turner Broadcasting"...WahWahWahWahWahWahWah..."Taking a job for the money alone is kind of like going out with a beautiful woman that beats the shit out of you every day. Wait, that's a bad analogy"...WahWahWahWahWahWahWahWah..."I'll tell you what, I sure hate to pay my gardener."

Finally, Beverly mentioned that she had to pick up her kid from day care. My boss was kind of bummed out that she wanted to leave at the hour she had specified before she was hired, but allowed her to take off. When she left, I asked him if he wanted to toss me my employment papers so that I could whip them out and make everything official.


"Uh, I don't have them here."


"Really? I thought that you said that they were on your desk earlier."


"Um, no. They aren't. I'll tell you what, I'll email you the offer letter tonight, and we can take care of the rest of the paperwork tomorrow when you are on the clock. In fact, why don't you show up early. We'll get it over with before we continue the training."



"...sure, I guess."


"Why don't you pull up a chair so I can show you how to use our client software."



"Actually, I have to take off, it's 5:00." There was no way I was about to hang out with this guy for another 30 seconds, especially since he had just held me as an unsigned volunteer/captive audience for 8 hours.


"That's a shame. OK, see you tomorrow then."

The entire ride home on the 134, cranking cigarettes and blasting Jack FM on the radio, I contemplated my employment decision. On one hand, it was a job that paid decently, didn't require overtime, and was relatively close to my apartment. On the other hand, my boss was completely inept, incapable of management in any capacity, and could not produce the legally required documents I needed to become an employee at his office. Each hand wrestled with the other until I was lying in bed later that night, and decided to stick it out. I mean, I was only training, and that was going to be over soon. Once I signed my papers and set out on my own, things had to get better.

The next morning, I checked my inbox. No offer letter.

I drove into the office at 7:45 am with a plan -- if my boss didn't have paperwork for me, I was going to leave, and tell him to give me a call when he had them. In 4 days he had promised me an offer letter three times, and every time he failed to deliver. Fuck, he couldn't put together my tax forms. I gave him one day out of my life as a good faith gesture, but I wasn't about to become a volunteer. I understood that people on the West Coast tend to have a more relaxed work ethic as compared to back east, and I really wanted to chalk it up to that.

8:00 am - No boss.

9:00 am - No boss.

9:30 am - Beverly walks in, sporting a sassy pair of stirrup pants tucked into orthopedic shoes. No boss.

9:47 am
- My boss leisurely saunters into the office and says hello to Beverly, who in turn giggles and clicks her feet together like some kind of overweight Leprechaun.

We all gathered in the greeting room to undoubtedly relight the 8 hour torch on the Statue of Gibberish. Before my boss could begin talking about his wife, his shoes, his car or what celebrities he met while he was working in radio and television, I asked him if he had my offer letter for me.


"Wow, you must have been burned in the past, huh."


"It's not a matter of that, sir. I just think it would be a good idea to fill out the documentation that is required by law to make me a legal employee so we can concentrate on getting me trained and ready to go."


"That's funny. I was talking about that with my wife today. I was like 'That Mike just can't stop talking about his offer letter', and she mentioned that you might have gotten burned by an employer in the past. Did you?"


"Well, yeah, I have. I think at one point or another we have all been 'burned' by an employer, but that's not why I'm asking you to make me an official employee by providing me my offer letter, tax forms, direct deposit applications, I9 and everything else I need. I'm just used to getting all of that out of the way before I start working at a job."


"You east coast people are vicious! Alright, alright. We'll go into my office in a bit and get everything squared away. I just want to go over some stuff with you guys for a bit before that. How does that sound?"



"Great. That sounds great." I was kicking myself. I knew that I had just set myself up to get the run around for another day.

We continued on with our training.


"The last two people that worked here, Jesus, they were terrible. They were always on the instant messenger and on the Myspace...and the stuff they would write in their emails, it was a horrible waste of time. I rifled both of them out of here last Monday"



"You were reading their emails?"


"I have access to everyone's computer, and I check to see what my employees are doing all the time."



"...and we are the only employees in your business?"


"That's right. I wouldn't have wanted to keep them here a minute longer. I'm pretty sure that they were fucking each other. He was all like 'I think she's soooo hot', and she was all like 'sure, I'll punch you out so you can leave early'. That's not professional."

I was still reeling from the fact that he actually just admitted to rummaging though other people's email and brought up the sex life of his former employees using words like "fuck" in front of two brand new employees that had not been properly processed...as a lesson to us about professionalism. I didn't respond out of the fear that I might admit my feverish disgust for him.

Thirty minutes later, my boss brought me into his office to go over my offer letter. I was relieved; finally I could get this off of my plate and concentrate on how I would evade conversation with this man during the work week.


"OK, so what did you say you wanted to make again?"

He had pulled up an offer letter for an older employee (the girl that he had just finished talking about firing for fucking one of the employees), and was editing it to fit the specifications of my counter. All of his talk about having the offer letter drawn up was a lie. What the fuck was I doing in this place? How did this guy own and operate a business?!

We went over the details, he would fill in the blanks on his offer letter template, print it out, hand it to me, I would show him how he had left some important detail out, and he would begin editing again. This went on for half an hour, with him contradicting his original acceptance of my counter at every step until we had finally come to the original terms of my employment. I signed it, kept a copy for myself and asked him if he had the rest of my paperwork handy so that I could fill it out. Of course, he didn't, and he didn't know when he would have them for me. "Are you ok?" he asked me as we were leaving his office for the greeting room. Apparently, my vehement hatred for everything under the roof of that building was starting to show on my face. I assured him that I was fine, and sat back on the couch next to Beverly, who was pawing through a dish of Hershey's Kisses, for round two of the best training in the universe.


"I like to go to the gym every morning"...WahWahWahWahWahWahWah..."You know, a lot of people have died in my life"...WahWahWahWahWahWahWah..."So Mike, my wife thinks that there are some really bad vibes coming from your office."



"...what?"


"Yeah, I totally agree with her. She thinks that the guy who was in there before you was just a really toxic person, and that he left some bad vibes in the room."


"..."


"So I'm going to go ahead and tell her to have a shaman come in to burn sage in there. I'm pretty sure that should cleanse everything properly."

I was starting to crack. I just couldn't take it anymore. I wanted desperately for a camera crew to pop out of the woodwork to tell me that I was just Punk'd. Nobody came. I was sitting in a room with a man that seriously wanted to scour the bad juju out of my office by having a witch doctor with a bone through his nose make it smell like the aftermath of the Great White show in Providence. This is my life.


"Honestly sir, I think that I'll be all set with the smudging. I do appreciate the offer, though."


"Yeah, we're going to go ahead and do it anyway, Mike. It's your office, but it's my building."

I felt the restraints that hold back the Godless Viking that embodies my wrath begin to buckle. If I sat in that office any longer, I was going to make this guy suicidal with some choice words. I frantically looked at the clock on the wall. 11:57. "Alright, I'm going to go grab lunch."


"Um, alright Mike. We'll see you around 1:00 then?"


"Yeah, that sounds great."

On the verge of a complete emotional breakdown, I sat in my sun baked car and dialed my mom. She always comes through in the clutch when it comes to making rational decisions. I recounted the past two days to her in great detail as I inhaled a noxious combination of cigarette smoke and superheated air. Beads of sweat were forming on my head as I ranted. I wanted her to tell me that I was acting like a child, and that I wasn't giving my co-workers a chance. My mom has an uncanny knack for sifting through my bullshit, and calls me out on it all the time.

"Mikey, get the hell out of that place. He sounds like he's had a pretty severe nervous breakdown at some point. Don't even tell this new age freak that you're leaving. Just grab your stuff and go."

I hung up the phone, walked back into the office, grabbed everything that I owned, bolted back outside without anyone noticing and sped down the 134 as fast as I could in the lunchtime traffic. Once I got home, I sat down and wrote an email.


Hi [redacted],

After serious deliberation, I've come to the conclusion that I would not be the best fit to work with [redacted], and I hereby tender my resignation. This decision in no way should be reflected on you personally or your management style, I just feel that I need a more structured, professional atmosphere in which I can apply my skill set. You can write me a check for the two days I was in there if you would like to, but it's not absolutely necessary. I thank you very much for the opportunity to join the team, and it is very unfortunate that it wasn't a great fit.

You can give me a call on my cell phone to follow up if you would like. I will be available for the rest of the afternoon.

Thanks again for the opportunity, I truly do appreciate it.

Best regards,

~Mike

Which was followed by this email, thirty minutes later.

"I need your keys"

Something tells me that this guy ends up writing that same email a lot.

POST SCRIPT: Apparently, we can add "unable to stay in the fetal position in a losing battle of wit" to my ex-boss' Resume of Failure. Aside from the barrage of (unanswered) phone calls, he has been sending me emails in what I can only interpret as an attempt to escalate the situation. I am going to use this space to update you on our correspondence, because the unintentional humor value is off the charts.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Thu, 10 May 2007 16:27:51 -0700 (PDT)

Michael,

I realize that you got the almighty letter that you were coveting but we have yet to receive the keys to our office. Please advise

[name redacted]


---------------------------------------------------------------

Thu, 10 May 2007 16:30:49 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

I'm not quite sure what you mean by the first part
of this communication, but it's only Thursday. The
keys may show up tomorrow or Monday, depending on the
USPS.

Also, I have yet to receive a check for my two days in
your employ, so the USPS must be running a bit slow on
both ends.

Best regards,

~KungFu Mike

---------------------------------------------------------------

Thu, 10 May 2007 17:29:18 -0700 (PDT)

You can write me a check for the
two days I was in there if you would like to, but it's
not absolutely necessary

----------------------------------------------------------------

Fri, 11 May 2007 08:57:03 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

I was hoping that our communication wasn't going to
dissolve into some kind pediatric squabble, but since
you persist in trying to contact me via email and
telephone, I am forced to stoop down to your level so
that you understand me very clearly and without
misinterpretation.

I wrote that line to you about the compensation as a
test, because in the time I have known you, I have
found that you have virtually no knowledge about how
to operate a business. It's actually scary. I hate to
be the one that tells you about this, but you are
mandated by law to pay your employees, whether they
want the money or not. How do you not know the basics?
I would be shocked to find out that you actually held
a MBA.

You can consider this a formal request for the
compensation I am due per our written agreement. You
can either choose to honor said agreement, or I will
take action as my attorney sees appropriate. You might
want to contact [redacted] to confirm your
inevitable liability in this matter.

I will consider this our last communication. Please do
not try to contact me again.

Best regards,

~KungFu Mike

---------------------------------------------------------

Fri, 11 May 2007 12:54:03 -0700 (PDT)

Michael,

Your W-4 form is here in the office for you to complete so that we can enter you into payroll. We also need documentation such as a driver's license to establish identity and your U.S. Social Security card to establish employment eligibility. Please let me know a day and time that you will be here to fill out the W-4 and provide a copy of the documentation listed above.

I appreciate your candor Michael on my little knowledge of how to run successful businesses.

Best Regards,

[name redacted]



---------------------------------------------------------
Fri, 11 May 2007 13:08:54 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

An employee do not need to be physically present in
order to complete this paperwork. Furthermore, an
employer normally establishes employment eligibility
BEFORE THE EMPLOYEE STARTS WORKING.

Go ahead and mail me the proper documentation, and I
will in turn mail it back to you with copies of my
driver's license and SS card for the I9.

[address redacted]

Regards,

~KungFu Mike

---------------------------------------------------------

Fri, 11 May 2007 13:39:11 -0700 (PDT)

Are you at this time refusing to return the office keys?

---------------------------------------------------------

Fri, 11 May 2007 13:49:53 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

I am not refusing to return your office keys. They are
in the mail. We've been over this already. If you need
to reference where I told you this, just scroll down
to the beginning of the conversation.

Regards,

~KungFu Mike

---------------------------------------------------

Mon, 14 May 2007 11:06:44 -0700

On two occasions, you noted that you were putting our property (the
keys to the office) in the mail and as of today, May 14, 2007, we have yet to
receive them.

If the keys are not here by the close of business tomorrow, Tuesday,
May 15, 2007, we will file a report with the Pasadena Police Department.

[name redacted]

KUNGFU MIKE EDIT: Keep these things in mind when you read that last email:

1) I quit the job on Tuesday afternoon, making it only 4 working days since I left.

2) My crazy former employer is threatening me with legal action for a set of keys...only 4 working days since I left.

3) My crazy former employer is threatening me with legal action for a set of keys...only 4 working days since I left...and he still hasn't given me my paperwork or paid me.

I can't stop laughing when I think about how that visit to the police station would turn out. "Yeah, I never gave him any of his employment paperwork during the two days that he was here, and I didn't pay him for his time, which is illegal and everything...but he's got my keys! ARREST HIM!!!" It's like a crack head going to the police because someone stole his base pipe.

Continue.
-----------------------------------------------------

Mon, 14 May 2007 11:13:02 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

Your keys were mailed out on Saturday, so you should
be receiving them by Tuesday, Wednesday at the latest.
Also, I still haven't received the proper paperwork
mandated by law for you to provide me, so if you still
feel like you need to file a police report, please do.

Here is a USPS Priority Mail confirmation number for
the keys - [number redacted]. You can go to
usps.com, enter in the number and track the envelope's
progress all the way to your office in Pasadena.

I patiently await your paperwork's arrival at my
residence so that I may end this ridiculous matter
with you swiftly and permanently.


Warmest regards,

~KungFu Mike

---------------------------------------------------

Tue, 15 May 2007 13:50:36 -0700

Label/Receipt Number: [number redacted]
Status: Acceptance

Your item was accepted at [time redacted] on May 14, 2007 in LA VERNE, CA
91750.
Information, if available, is updated every evening. Please check again
later.


Your package went to La Verne it seems. The mailing address is: [address redacted]

----------------------------------------------------------

Tue, 15 May 2007 14:00:26 -0700 (PDT)

[name redacted],

ACCEPTED means that the post office in La Verne
processed the letter at that date and time. Let me
know if you need any more help navigating the user
friendly USPS website.

Sincerely,

~KungFu Mike

Posted by KungFu Mike at 6:22 PM

 ·  ·  ·  · 

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Comments

Wow, Beverly iz da hotnez!!

Congratulations Mike, good judgement prevailed once again.

Posted by: Ritalin at May 10, 2007 05:50 AM

I think I'm in love with Beverly. She is everything and more I have ever wanted in a woman...And I've never even met her...

I think there's something in the water, air or food in California that makes people dumb.

Posted by: at May 10, 2007 10:37 AM

So you buy a gun off a street dealer in an alley somewhere, send it with ONE bullet and a short letter of spic proportions that not only would sign over everything to you but also end in his demise. I think if you could do that it would be killing probably more than 2 birds with one stone. Maybe it'd be more like a shotgun fired into the roaring wings of a thousand random birds leaving the ground...you're bound to hit something.

On a side note: What the heck is wrong with that guy?! I didn't know people like that really existed : )

Posted by: Wayland at May 10, 2007 10:41 AM

I didn't know they had Visiontel on the West Coast ^_^

Posted by: zach retox at May 10, 2007 11:46 AM

You still haven't sent me the keys. It's been two days. I will not tolerate such unprofessional behavior. Expect to hear from my lawyer soon.

DB

Posted by: Dave at May 10, 2007 12:01 PM

GOOD CALL!! What a maniac

Posted by: Mindy at May 10, 2007 03:00 PM

wow. so many things. okay, here's a few:

1. you're a good writer mikey, i assume you know "mulatto" comes from "mule" and the current pc term is the ever-vague "bi-racial." (how disappointing if you were ever pc, tho.) having lived with a bi-racial girl for years, i will freely admit i'm scared to use the word "mulatto." that, and "girlfriends" really did shape into a decent show by the third season.

2. beverly has a kid? that means someone had sex with her. some dude looked at her and felt desirous enough for the blood re-direct necessary to procreate. holy crap.

3. again, the boss has a WIFE?

4. anyone boss in l.a. who drops names of "biz" contacts wants to be famous, and at least want you to think he could be someday. in my scientific opinion, this type of boss accounts for (approximately) 92% of non-entertainment-industry bosses in los angeles county.

5. who the hell gets a SHAMAN for a simple smudging ceremony? these are the sort of people that deserve to get ripped off by the masses of fake spiritualists.

a final thought...can you send him back an entirely DIFFERENT set of keys, just for the sake of comedy. i bet $5 it would take him over a week to notice.

thanks for curing me of missing l.a...this is so typical, and yet only happens there.

Posted by: erratiKate at May 10, 2007 09:55 PM

I wish this would go on forever.

No, really.

Posted by: Junior at May 11, 2007 10:45 AM

You sure you didn't make eyes at this guy because he is most certainly a scorned ex-boyfriend as you mentioned...

and...

Mindy, I'll see your $5 and raise you $20 that it takes longer than a week!!!

Posted by: Beverly Lover at May 11, 2007 10:50 AM

You need to really consider getting that Complete Imbecile Magnet removed from your torso.

First the gypsy roommate, now this, what next?

Posted by: J Lee at May 11, 2007 11:23 AM

Wow talk about an unintentional gold mine of humor.

Posted by: SlayersAngel at May 11, 2007 11:38 AM

oh oh a new bet, but sadly on to which we'll never know the answer:
i bet he looked up the word "pediatric."

...provided he knows how to look up a word.....

Posted by: erratiKate at May 11, 2007 01:43 PM

Moron. That was Mike that wrote "pediatric."

Posted by: MiataMike at May 12, 2007 03:33 PM

That was the point, erratiKate. He was saying that the boss had to look up "pediatric" after Mike used it in his e-mail. You probably shouldn't call people morons when you so closely resemble one.

Posted by: justadjust at May 13, 2007 03:21 AM

There's a delightful irony to person C) delivering a scathing insult to person B) over the quality of their insult. And addressing said scathing insult to Person A).

Posted by: Scootah at May 13, 2007 09:45 PM

why would you assume when i wrote "he" i referred to mike and not the boss?

i'm not calling anyone a moron. the author of the post is the name UNDER the post, not above it.

Posted by: erratiKate at May 13, 2007 10:53 PM

ha ha thanks Scootah i was hoping the irony would speak for itself and would be appreciated...yay!

Posted by: erratiKate at May 14, 2007 11:51 AM

Soooo, where's Beverly in all this??? She still the hotness or what??? I've grown my own mullet just for her...

I want to hear his call to the Po-Po...That should make some good coffee talk...

Posted by: Beverly Lover at May 14, 2007 12:10 PM

Even though my former employer has the employee retention skills of a wrecking ball, I'm pretty sure that Beverly is still there. Wouldn't be surprised if she hasn't gotten her paperwork yet, but then again, I'm not sure what forms need to be filled out when you are compensated in Hershey's Kisses and shiny glass beads.

Posted by: Reconditioning Batteries at May 14, 2007 12:15 PM

ok so is it me or do all your blogs about this so called life you live end up whiney and somehow your always wronged . NEWS flash everyone thinks your an ass hat .. you may be a skilled writer but all and all your a brat that sucks@life

KUNGFU MIKE EDIT: You're > your. If you are going to try to talk shit, throw YOUR comment into Word first. I'm not going to spend all day sifting through the end result of you bashing your forehead into your keyboard Bonk's Adventure style.

I'll leave this up as an example to other people.

Posted by: KFM is not a awesome as he thinks at May 14, 2007 01:00 PM

LMFAO People like this only exist for our amusement.

Posted by: SlayersAngel at May 14, 2007 03:18 PM

I don't think you're an asshat. You are the hotness, close second to Bev of course.

Posted by: J Lee at May 14, 2007 05:31 PM

You are an asshat. In fact you are an asshole. Whats funny is someone points it out and you go after grammar. Shit bag. Look at all your run on sentences and sentence fragments. FUCK HEAD. If you are going to play that game be prepared for you to continually get tooled no matter where you go. You will end up a washed up drunk asshole with no friends and when this little hype over a crappy ass online chat version of your fucking idiocy ends...or maybe the lawsuits will end it. You will be a sad mother fucker with no fucking life and a bad need to go to aa. Count up your chips now because either you will wind up dead or just fried in the brain like most do. You know whats funny about this shit...it will follow you to your grave.. One day you might want a real job.

KUNGFU MIKE EDIT: No no no, what's funny about this is that you hate me SO much and think that what I do is SO pathetic...but you still waste all of your time sending me hate mail. It's hilarious!

Christ, I love the comment section.

Posted by: kafucko at May 15, 2007 09:40 AM

any crazy boss updates? I got the impression from your story that he actually wanted to pay you under the table and never wanted to go through with the paperwork. I'd bet Beverly is getting paid that way, so perhaps Mr Bossman might not want the long arm of the law coming in to The Office.

Posted by: HybridVigor at May 15, 2007 01:31 PM

I wish he's write back. Can't wait to hear about the forms, asshat. Who say's that? asshat. funny shit.

Posted by: Mindy at May 15, 2007 04:10 PM

So Hershey's Kisses and shiny beads get me into her pants??? SWEET!!! I'm there!!!

Posted by: at May 16, 2007 06:58 AM

What I like about all this is that the people who hate you and what not, spend the time to join with this site and then proceed to create so called "hate mail" which is always has shitty spelling. Fuck tards.

Posted by: Anonymous at May 16, 2007 09:22 PM

What I like about all this is that the people who hate you and what not, spend the time to join with this site and then proceed to create so called "hate mail" which always has shitty spelling. Fuck tards.

Posted by: Anonymous at May 16, 2007 09:23 PM

So...did you get your $?

Posted by: Anonymous at May 24, 2007 09:05 AM

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