You walk into the office three hours late. You’re the boss, after all; you can do what you want, and if anybody has a problem, they can fuck right off. You’re the boss. The boss!
You say hello to the receptionist as you walk past the front desk. She looks out from behind her computer monitor and politely says hello in response and asks you how you are today.
“Get back to work!” you scream into her face. “I’m not paying you to make small talk!”
Startled and frightened, the receptionist ducks back behind her screen and begins frantically typing nonsense.
You continue through the building toward your corner officer. As you stroll past the bullpen, you notice a conspicuous lack of chatter. No phone calls, no one standing up and looking over cubicle walls to waste valuable company time on bullshit chit-chat. Looks like I may have finally worked all the lazy out of these losers, you think.
Passing the last row of cubicles, a brightly colored flyer on the bulletin board catches your eye. Under poorly drawn clip-art balloons in bold comic sans lettering, the flyer announces that there is a RETIREMENT PARTY TODAY at 11:30 AM in the BREAK ROOM.
You check your watch. It is 11:37. You take a closer look around the office. It’s quiet because those no-good slackers that dare to call themselves employees are fucking off in the god damned break room. Who’s retiring? You didn’t receive any notice. Typical.
You tear into the break room. A banner hangs from the ceiling, instructing some no-good slack-off asshole to ENJOY YOUR RETIREMENT!
Upon noticing your entrance, your shiftless parasite “workers” turn and shout “SURPRISE!” in unison.
“What the hell?” you shout at the largest group of useless mooches ever assembled in your break room. “This party is for me? I’m not retiring! You half-assed fucks are never getting rid of me?”
The group stares at you silently. One employee – you think his name is Bob or something equally lame – appears particularly confused. He looks back at the banner and gives out a high pitched cry. He holds a finger up towards you, signaling for you to give him one moment.
Bob climbs up on the break room table to reach the banner and plucks the Y off, leaving the banner to proclaim ENJOY OUR RETIREMENT! After climbing back down from the table, Something Equally Lame holds up another, different finger toward you, and walks out of the room. Everyone else follows suit.
You return to your office and speed-dial the temp agency. You tell them to send a group that’s worth a damn this time.