My friend Emily was having trouble at work so I wrote her a resignation letter. Feel free to copy and paste to get yourself out of any jam.
Dearest David,
I have treasured our time together. So much so that I don't want to ever do it again so as to spoil the memory. In that spirit I graciously offer my resignation.
But let me digress. I think I realized I wanted to die rather than stay at this job when I found myself in a Pizza Hut bathroom trying to sit down in someplace quiet to answer a few thousand of your emails and it was maybe the closed in walls or the cheese or the ornate and ornery graffiti black on the red greasy tiles that did me in. I read more interesting graffiti that day than I have on any given Thursday morning email deluge from your office.
I can't die here David.
As much as I wish I could care about you and your wife and your cats and your upcoming travels or haircuts or bored meetings, you have to trustee me when I say I'm through dammit.
I've worn out a damn fine set of legs settin outside your damn office for years and do I hear cheers from my thighs for resting so long in one place I do not. I hear tears, David, and not just from all my body parts aching to breathe free, but from every fly who has landed on me and whispered
Dude. Just go. Flap flap get flapping.
So I'm not giving my two weeks notice not that you'd notice I'm giving you til Christmas to meet my demands and there's a plenty.
First, I shall not be summoned from my bed unless there is an actual fire. I demand all correspondence be delivered to me by a liveryman in topcoat and tails on a little silver tray with gloves and I will probably just letting you know will be waving him away at first seeing him. I am throwing my phone and ordinateur (that's French for computer) in the Puget Sound which is an overnight trip to the shoreline which you will be paying hotel and all the Nathan's hot dogs I can eat as well as any fresh berries I might buy on stands that I pass along small dirt roads.
I don't ask much. I asked for decent work hours, common empathy, solidarity, my own flag denoting my own island country (wheresmyflagdavid.com) a huge raise, way more vacation and the ability to take a second vacation immediately if the first was not to my liking. I desire a 24 hour psychic who doubles as a lite fare Mediterranean chef, a few songs written about my merit, and a performance venue where I have box seats and can pick anything from stand up to Fosse for my best friend and in between.
Really the most important thing I desire is to be noted as being exemplary and for you to award me the lifetime achievement I believe I surpassed four to eight years ago, and this requires immediate honorary dismissal, a sequestering of me by luxury yacht and then limo to a cottage in the British countryside where you have already in preparation planted my favorite climbing vines that are now
gently flowering.
I will allow once sequestered for you to contact me ON OCCASION by gloved livery as specified but in general all my meetings will be held for 25 minutes at tea time in the garden and most of my answers will be no. Unless the question is do you require any more hats.
I am sorry for your loss, of me, David, as I see you have been a great burden to me. I am looking forward to my retirement with benefits as befitting the extraordinary goddess that I have matured into all these incredibly wasted years.
I shall lift my skirts and fart in your office one last time and let me tell you I have filled your office with farts many many times when you were out at a highly urgent meeting elsewhere. And there is nothing I treasure more than listing that particular skill on my résumé's Special Abilities section, as well as carrying that specific good feeling in a basket with me wherever I go. I carry it close to my heart, in a special fart blanket. It's flannel, thanks for asking.
Feel free not to contact me unless it is about more money you forgot to add on, or the wheelbarrows of apologies I see coming my way for which I shall have liveryman dig a trench. Which I shall cover with saved farts.
I love myself.
I regret nothing.
Mine,
E. O. Moon, esquire
