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Antiwork

An open letter to my boss for trying to guilt us into working tomorrow on a paid holiday

Since names are changed to protect the innocent (read: cover my ass) my boss is named Ted. Ted, When someone on the team reminded the rest of us on Friday that Monday is a paid holiday you took the opportunity to guilt us into working on the upcoming trade show demo by saying that is what you will be doing and told us all that these trade show dates are fixed in time. A trade show the company has rushed into and poorly prepared for and a demo which barely does what it's supposed to and is only tangentially related to the show itself. Let me put it into perspective for you Ted. It's summer and you're outside in your beautiful yard with your beautiful family at your beautiful house on the beautiful golf course and a wayward golf ball strikes you in the head, knocking you out and you…


Since names are changed to protect the innocent (read: cover my ass) my boss is named Ted.

Ted,

When someone on the team reminded the rest of us on Friday that Monday is a paid holiday you took the opportunity to guilt us into working on the upcoming trade show demo by saying that is what you will be doing and told us all that these trade show dates are fixed in time. A trade show the company has rushed into and poorly prepared for and a demo which barely does what it's supposed to and is only tangentially related to the show itself.

Let me put it into perspective for you Ted. It's summer and you're outside in your beautiful yard with your beautiful family at your beautiful house on the beautiful golf course and a wayward golf ball strikes you in the head, knocking you out and you fall to the ground. Your family screams in terror and calls an ambulance. They anxiously wait in the hospital for hours on any word from a doctor. It's not good. You've been paralyzed from the neck down and are unable to speak. It will take months to even get the medical equipment necessary for you to communicate again, and even longer to calibrate it to your needs.

In that time you sit motionless and alone in your head with only your thoughts to occupy your time. You think about how you'll never walk your daughter down the aisle. You'll never get to drive any of your fancy cars to the coast. You'll never have intimacy or sex with your wife again, although with how much time you spent at work it's doubtful that's something you'll even miss.

While your brain slowly simmers and melts away from cabin fever, I have to wonder, will you think back and wish you had spent more time with the loved ones who only see you as a burden now, or will you wish that you spent more time perfecting that one trade show demo on your day off?

That's what I thought. Get fucked Ted.

By the way, the last time any of us worked weekends for these trade show demos and were lucky enough to even get all the overpaid vice president approvals for the 'bravo' bonus afterwards, it came out to less than our effective hourly rates (yay for salary right?) so we basically worked the weekend for you not for overtime but for undertime? Get fucked Ted.

Sincerely,
Your reluctantly indentured servant

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