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.

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

Howdy Ho boys and girls! In the midst of your post-Christmas – pre-New Year’s – do I seriously have to go back to work? stupor, I welcome you back to Crooked Letterz, the place where we look at the darker side of life and point fingers and laugh. I am your host, Christopher Starr, and THIS is Dis MuthaFucka Right Here – Poking the Bear Edition (edition edition edition)

I gotta get some fireworks or something.

Now before I get started, I have to say a word of thanks for the kind words, well wishes and general good will. You guys have been incredibly patient and I appreciate you sharing my concern over my wife during her Big C diagnosis and surgery and offering your condolences after my grandmother’s passing. I sincerely appreciate it—more than you’ll ever know.

But it is time to get back to it. We’re gonna get back to our villainy business in 2013 (promise!) with the conclusion of Mayhem of the Mouse and the rest of the Festival of Fiendishness (I gotta get to 100 villains) but for now, I have something a little different in mind.

Lemme get my John McCain on: my friends, today’s post is pretty special.

As 2012 winds to a close, I am inspired to look back at some of the fun times we’ve had together: you laughed at me walking my dog with Hello Kitty earphones, we looked at about 65 of our favorite villains, broke Disney World, and we saw the rise of DMFRH with The Boy, Shawn T (punk ass), and me. As a matter of fact, 2012 has been quite the year for muthafuckas. Lucky for you, I saved the best for last. Consider it my gift to you…

Earlier this year, I broke from the dark stuff to write a sappy, saccharine-laced post called Pursue Your Happyness. It was about my wife finding her happy place planning Disney vacations for people who feel perfectly at home with man-sized mice and what I am convinced is a rabid duck in a sailor’s suit. And NOBODY has pants. What’s wrong with pants?

But that’s beside the point.

That post centered around her joining an Authorized Disney Vacation Planning agency (who shall remain nameless—but whose initials are Blue Sky Journeys). The company was truly an American story: started by a young couple with $30 and dream, grew to have national reach and about 30 planners. It was cool shit. I was happy for my wife and happy she’d joined such a close-knit “family.”

Until shit got stupid.

See, I’ve worked with large and small companies, startups, nonprofits and Fortune 500s. I’ve made my share of clerical errors and full-scale fuck ups. I don’t begrudge mistakes. I take issue with how you deal with them. And in each of those instances, with each of those organizations, when I departed, my departure was handled with professionalism, courtesy and decorum.

I guess you can imagine that’s not exactly what happened.

And if you’re wondering why I’m saying it at all, it’s because someone told me not to. Not to publish “ONE THING.” That reverse psychology Jedi mind trick bullshit doesn’t work on me. I slept with a woman 14 years my senior who worked at my college because somebody told me not to. I moved out of my mother’s house 16 hours after moving in because somebody told me what not to do. If you don’t want me to publish it, you probably shouldn’t say stupid stuff in email. To me. Or on voicemail. Dummy.

So, gather ‘round kiddos and let me tell you the story of Dees Muthafuckas Right Here. Once upon a time, there was a girl with a dream about making people pay ridiculous prices for mouse-themed vacations. So she found an agency to make her little dream come true. Now, for a variety of reasons (the final one being served with a Cease and Desist for simply doing her job with the tools given) the girl—my wife—decided it was best to part ways with her homey little travel agency and penned this resignation letter:

ResignationIt’s relatively standard, right? Maybe adds a little more specificity than I would have but it’s essentially “I’m out, pay me what you owe.” And it garners an appropriate response:

Johns response resignation

Now if that were the end of this story, it’d be sad indeed. Lucky for all of us, our friends in Tennessee do not disappoint. A couple hours later, this strolls into the Inbox:

Melanies-response-resignation

Wait, what?

Suddenly, things aren’t so magical. Or grammatically correct. I think we’re in HUDGE trouble…

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Chris, this is awfully one-sided. You’re only posting their stuff.” And you’d be right: it’s my blog. My house, my rules. And we’re the good guys. But I hear you, I hear you—so I’ll post Amanda’s response. But before I do, I want you to notice 2 things: 1) this is the owner of the company talking; and 2) she copied everybody and their mama on it. All 30 of those planners, some of them friends, received the same email.

So Amanda copied them too:

Amanda Response 1

Amanda Response 2

Amanda Response 3

The email was bad enough. But they really didn’t appreciate the Reply All. Not one bit (you gotta say it in the Joker voice).

This is only the beginning: this story gets SOOOOO much better–you gotta keep reading for Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and the Greatest Hits, all featuring:

• More emails!
• Legal threats!
• A drunk ass voicemail!
• And then – Chris gets involved!

“You knew this was coming, Pete.” – Harry Osborne, Spiderman 3