When Quitting Your Job Goes Wrong – DMFRH: Poking the Bear Edition Part II

I told you I’d be back. I told you there was more Tennessee-sponsored stupidity, didn’t I? Are you excited? Are you on the edge of your seat, waiting with eager anticipation at what nonsense I can present today? I know I am. But for those of you clowns who didn’t tune in yesterday, here is your obligatory recap:

A lil bit ago, my wife joined a fledgling travel agency selling fairy-themed vacations for pirate-themed prices. She was happy. The agency was happy. Things were good. Until my friendly neighborhood mail lady dropped off a certified letter with a Cease and Desist for using her agency’s logo (apparently you should do a trademark search before you launch a business, huh?) Combined with a series of questionable activities by our Blue Sky Journey friends—I’m talking shit like calling someone a retard because they didn’t like the idea of fucking Cars Land in Disney World (this is a real argument. I feel extra stupid for even saying that out loud) or firing someone ON FACEBOOK for posting about not voting for Mitt Romney (the election returns say she was not alone), or being Master-level assholes—the letter was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

So my wife quit.

Wrote a nice little letter, asked for her outstanding money, and moved on to another agency. And then, our grammatically-challenged country bumpkins got all Alex Forrest on her and started leaving uber-professional correspondence. When I was a claims adjuster, I was told to never write something that I wouldn’t want to see as a headline somewhere. Somebody didn’t get that memo.

When we left our intrepid vacation planner, she’d quit her job, received a semi-pro acceptance of her resignation, then was honored with a hillbilly threat letter. She fired back with a bullet-pointed response and we join this cyber dispute, already in progress.

Amanda’s TPS Report-style response to Tennessee madness went over like a fart in church. Like that fat chick in the choir’s fart. Not only did she substantiate her claims, she used spell-check and greater than 8th grade vernacular. And she copied every member of the Blue Sky Journeys crew. And you know nothing says “you know, this is probably enough. Let’s just pay this chick and be done” like a voicemail. FYI: those 4 rings and the greeting are your opportunity to reconsider. Our friends didn’t take that opportunity. Instead, they left Amanda this:

That. Really. Happened. That’s right, folks, you’re listening to the musical stylings of Melanie and John Swoap. I have it on MP3 if anybody wants to add it to your iTunes playlist. You know you do.

OK but somebody in that shop had a couple pieces of common sense because Melanie fired off this little missive to absolve her of any responsibility. But you did just hear her, right?

Melanie I Will Not Respond

Betrayal? Seriously? It’s Disney Vacation Planning, not The Godfather. You drop that drunk ass voicemail and then try to act like you’re the bigger person? Whatever. But that common sense stuff must only apply to one of them because Big John Stud let this fly when nobody commented on his super-eloquent voicemail:

John Post VoicemailAs you can tell, these cats really want us to come to Tennessee. I mean, Seriously. Like they work for the Board of Tourism. But now things are getting funny. I mean, the only response to someone who leaves you a litany of messages like that is to fuck with them, right? I mean these folks spent an entire day mad because Amanda quit. We hung Christmas lights and baked cookies. But might as well keep it going…

Amanda Response Voicemail

Let me tell you what, Have A Magical Day is NOT going over well. But my friends, the question becomes, “How much is enough?” At what point would any of you say, “You know, it’s really time to be done”? I thought it was 3 email conversations ago. Definitely when everybody said, “Stop talking or it’s harassment.” But Tennessee lives by the Bad Boy Can’t Stop Won’t Stop motto and DMFRH won’t shut up! John gives us another email and raises the name calling accusations to include “thief.” Thief. I already stated you have a substance abuse problem (pill-popping alcoholic) and an attitude problem (bitch) but you’re a criminal too. Check it out:

John Escalation

My man is obviously campaigning for the Jackass of the Year Award and he’s playing to win! And you might notice, he’s copying all the other planners too. Just a note: the word is CORROBORATE!  There are fucking Rs in that word! But I digress. So Amanda decides it’s best to close it out with a nice little legal definition, a recap and a forward to her business attorney.

Amanda FinalThat shut everybody up…but only for the night.

That means, boy and girls, that there is even more before we get to the end of our story—I haven’t even said anything to my man at all. So swing back by tomorrow for the conclusion of this episode of Dis MuthaFucka Right Here.

Pick Your Battles

There are some things you don’t want to come home and catch your wife doing. Not things like the mailman (get out of the gutter, middle-schoolers!) but things like listening to Karen White’s Superwoman, going through your Facebook, or watching a Snapped marathon. Those things cannot end well.

For me, it’s walking in the house and seeing my wife on Walt Disney’s travel website.


Every year around this time, after 4 months of gray skies and endless rain, my wife gets restless. I start finding little notes around the house that say “All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy.” I damn near break my neck in the middle of the night from the nightstand that’s suddenly on my side of the bed because “the feng shui was off.” I don’t know feng or shui—I wanna know why I can’t see my tv without becoming a damn Cirque du Soleil contortionist. In a few subtle ways, my wife lets me know she needs to get out of the house.

And where better to go than Disneyland?

Look, I don’t have personal feelings one way or another about Disney-anything. Their movies ain’t bad—some of them are actually funny. I loved The Incredibles. The horse in Tangled had me DYIN! Jessica Rabbit had a niiiiiice set of—say what? That wasn’t Disney? Really? With the cartoons and everything—no? Well…nevermind…

Like I said, I’m ambivalent. My wife is an addict. She is a Mousejunkie. She loves all things Disney—Disney movies, Disneyland, keeps trying to make me dress up like the Beast so she can be Belle. Addict. And after being trapped in Snowmageddon for 7 days with the kids while I was tragically “stuck” in Los Angeles, I had no argument when she held out her hand for a credit card to book a TEN-DAY TRIP TO DISNEYWORLD. What could I say?

A long time ago I got into an argument with a man about a raccoon. I used to be a claims adjuster for an Insurance Company That Shall Not Be Named. Suffice it to say I was pretty damn neighborly. Anyway, I had a client who had a raccoon break into his house, piss all over the place, drive his dogs crazy enough to scratch through the walls, and have babies in his attic. It was FAN-tastic! I got him all square except for these expensive-ass artic-rated sleeping bags. Couldn’t replace those—it was against the policy. Few days after I closed the file, the guy calls me to say he figured out how I could pay for the sleeping bags. It’s my job: I’m all ears. The call went something like this:

ME: So watcha got?

HIM: I think I figured it out: Vandalism.

I read the definition for vandalism: willful and malicious intent to cause property damage.

ME: Ummm, I don’t think this is gonna work, man. It says “willful and malicious intent.” It was a raccoon.

HIM: But it willfully and maliciously broke into my house and peed on my stuff.

ME: Come on, man. I don’t think it was malicious—the raccoon didn’t break into your house to pee on your stuff because it was yours. It did it because that’s what raccoons do.

HIM: But it did! It did it on purpose.

We went round and round on this for a while until I had an audience. All my co-workers are crowding around to see how I’m gonna handle the raccoon argument. I make the point that a child under the age of six can’t legally form intent; is he suggesting that the raccoon has greater mental capacity than a 6-year-old human being? Finally I say:

“Well, look, did you have it arrested?”

HIM: What?

ME: Did you have it arrested? You say it broke into your house and vandalized your stuff. If you show me a police report arresting the raccoon for vandalism, I will pay for your sleeping bags. Did you have it arrested?

HIM: No.

ME: Why not?

HIM: Because it’s a raccoon!

ME: Exactly!

And I hung up the phone.

I spent too much time on that call for something that wasn’t going to happen. Waayyy too much time. And I ruined his day and my own when I should have ended it right before it began. Funny or not, it was a battle I shouldn’t have fought.

In the end, you can’t win them all. I can’t fight the Disney machine (I did hand over the credit card); that man couldn’t get his sleeping bags paid for; Jessica Rabbit isn’t bad, she’s just drawn that way. And some battles aren’t worth fighting. They aren’t worth your time, your energy, your attention. So before you snap over that shitty review, engage in that negative Facebook conversation or speak up in that PTA meeting, STOP. Take a breath. Decide if this is a battle that’s really worth fighting. Everything else is just raccoon piss on sleeping bags: Not Covered.