First of all, I want to thank you for the blessing it has been to work for you. Really, your jokes are of the finest quality. Since you make so many of them, I often get the hiccups from fake laughing at them every day. In fact, I fake laugh so much during the day that I go home and can’t fake or real laugh at anything. My giggle quota has been met by noon, Monday through Friday. One word of advice, this is more of a general statement to all bosses, not you. Actually not you at all, because I need this job, but you might want to write your jokes down so that you can keep from repeating them. I know, I know, you’re super fun and sometimes being fun fogs our memories, but really, I don’t want to hear the joke about the fax machine again. “Just the fax ma’am, just the fax.”
It’s not just my eternal unhappiness that you have bestowed on me in the workplace and in my home life. That I could deal with. Your idea of “fun” and my idea of “fun” are vastly different. I have no desire to go fishing with you, or to have Bud Lights in the office at 4pm on a Friday; I definitely don’t want to meet your kids. Ever. My idea of fun would the take the mandated Sad Hour at 4:00 on Fridays off and let me go home so that I can cry into a $4.00 bottle of wine without pants on.
Remember that time you made us all go fishing? We had to get there at 6:00 in the morning and it wasn’t until we were 10 miles into the sound, nauseated, cold, and wet from the spray, that you told us that we were going to be having bureaucratic fun all day. The highlight of the trip is when you told us all that we each had to catch a fish. Or we were fired. You laughed, we laughed, you weren’t joking.
Also, are you married? I really don’t know. You wear a wedding ring but there is an endless carousel of young, busty women who you have lunch with. Some of them even become your assistant. If they are assisting you with your dick, its probably a good idea to stop paying them.
Speaking of your dick, I am not lovely, darling, sweet, or special. In fact, none of the women in the office are and there has been talk of buying a case of mace and placing it in conspicuous locations throughout the office for when you feel the need to stand closely to any of us.
I hear you drink champagne! Cheap champagne. During the week. At night. In public. Alone. You may be like “wow, you are such a good employee, working until all hours of the night JUST FOR ME,” but that doesn’t give you license to call me at midnight just to drunkenly talk shit about my coworkers.
A brief word about workload, Foursquare does not push ads to your phone. You did not read it on Mashable (because that’s where you get all your tech news), I don’t know where the fuck you read it because you didn’t send me a link. But its cool, you’re such a fun boss, I don’t mind spending hours on end Googling every permutation of “foursquare pushed ads” with you sitting behind me and telling me where to click.
Also, Drupal is cool. Good lookin’ out.
Well boss, the purpose of this is just to tell you what an outstanding employer and human being you are. Thank you for employing me.