I Rage-Quit My Job

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here. When I showed up, the foreman immediately barked at me, “You’re late!” I looked at the time. It was 7:45 AM, 15 minutes before I had to punch in.I told him, “No I’m not, I’m early.” He showed me his watch. Inexplicably, it read 8:10 AM. The punch clock also read 8:10. So did every clock in the warehouse. I felt crazy. I later found out when I went home that they set their clocks 25 minutes later so that they could feel like they were finishing earlier every day. This had become their normal standard. They were still furious at me for arriving “late,” though.The job was simple enough. I picked orders manually without the use of a machine, which I had done for years. All employees apart from me and two others were in the same family. We all spoke French except one employee who could only speak English, Robert. There was no break room — we ate our lunch in the warehouse on some old couches. The staff smoked cigarettes in the warehouse. Fragile and expensive medical equipment frequently came into contact with tobacco smoke.One day, the foreman asked me to man a forklift to get a box of syringes off of a high shelf. I shook my head no. Livid, he asked me why. I answered, “Because you are only paying me $10 an hour. Pay me$ 12 an hour, which is the bare minimum for a forklift driver.” He began screaming at me. I didn’t budge. He got someone else to do it.Robert, the only anglophone at work, often criticized my work and insulted me and one of my other co-workers. He insisted that we were lazy for taking our breaks; the

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staff often pressured us to work through them. He pushed too far one day.I told Robert, “You need to respect me. We’re at work. We’re supposed to be professionals.”He replied, “Respect is earned, asshole.”Furious, I asked the foreman if he was going to do anything about Robert talking to me this way in the workplace. He didn’t even give me the dignity of an answer. He simply took a sip of water and waved me away as if I was a fly.I quit on the spot. Giddy, I laughed and waved my arms at the foreman and said in French, “I quit! I’m leaving! Get someone else to replace me!” He chuckled at first, not sure if I was kidding. When it dawned on him that I was serious, he didn’t know whether to scream at me or beg me to stay.“You won’t get a reference for your resume,” he warned me. I laughed in his face.“A reference? Seriously?” I laughed long and hard.“I don’t want your reference,” I said. I paused before leaving. “Don’t even think about robbing me of my wages for the hours I worked.”I left the warehouse feeling amazing. It was raining and I was soaking wet and I couldn’t have cared less. I took the three buses home and began looking for a minimum wage job. I had spent a total of four days working there.There is nothing quite like the feeling of going home after suddenly leaving your evil and unethical bosses in the lurch. I highly recommend it, if you can get away with the consequences. Rage-quitting is the ultimate catharsis.</article></body>

And you should too.

The Great Resignation is currently taking the world by storm, and employers are feeling the heat. There is increasing pressure on employers to pay better raises or to add perks to a certain position in order to ensure an employee stays longer. There are so many jobs available right now that rage-quitting is in fashion.

All of the times I rage-quit my job was when I didn’t have a Plan B, which I don’t particularly suggest. I don’t recommend leaving your job unless you’re absolutely sure you will be financially stable afterward.

Here’s my story about how I rage-quit my job as an order picker at a medical supply warehouse. This place hired me without an interview, they just called me and asked me to show up one day after seeing my resume online. It paid $10 CAD an hour. This was during the 2008 recession and I had just been laid off from my previous job so I was desperate.

I had to take three different buses to get there. When I showed up, the foreman immediately barked at me, “You’re late!” I looked at the time. It was 7:45 AM, 15 minutes before I had to punch in.

I told him, “No I’m not, I’m early.” He showed me his watch. Inexplicably, it read 8:10 AM. The punch clock also read 8:10. So did every clock in the warehouse. I felt crazy. I later found out when I went home that they set their clocks 25 minutes later so that they could feel like they were finishing earlier every day. This had become their normal standard. They were still furious at me for arriving “late,” though.

The job was simple enough. I picked orders manually without the use of a machine, which I had done for years. All employees apart from me and two others were in the same family. We all spoke French except one employee who could only speak English, Robert. There was no break room — we ate our lunch in the warehouse on some old couches. The staff smoked cigarettes in the warehouse. Fragile and expensive medical equipment frequently came into contact with tobacco smoke.

One day, the foreman asked me to man a forklift to get a box of syringes off of a high shelf. I shook my head no. Livid, he asked me why. I answered, “Because you are only paying me $10 an hour. Pay me $12 an hour, which is the bare minimum for a forklift driver.” He began screaming at me. I didn’t budge. He got someone else to do it.

Robert, the only anglophone at work, often criticized my work and insulted me and one of my other co-workers. He insisted that we were lazy for taking our breaks; the staff often pressured us to work through them. He pushed too far one day.

I told Robert, “You need to respect me. We’re at work. We’re supposed to be professionals.”

He replied, “Respect is earned, asshole.”

Furious, I asked the foreman if he was going to do anything about Robert talking to me this way in the workplace. He didn’t even give me the dignity of an answer. He simply took a sip of water and waved me away as if I was a fly.

I quit on the spot. Giddy, I laughed and waved my arms at the foreman and said in French, “I quit! I’m leaving! Get someone else to replace me!” He chuckled at first, not sure if I was kidding. When it dawned on him that I was serious, he didn’t know whether to scream at me or beg me to stay.

“You won’t get a reference for your resume,” he warned me. I laughed in his face.

“A reference? Seriously?” I laughed long and hard.

“I don’t want your reference,” I said. I paused before leaving. “Don’t even think about robbing me of my wages for the hours I worked.”

I left the warehouse feeling amazing. It was raining and I was soaking wet and I couldn’t have cared less. I took the three buses home and began looking for a minimum wage job. I had spent a total of four days working there.

There is nothing quite like the feeling of going home after suddenly leaving your evil and unethical bosses in the lurch. I highly recommend it, if you can get away with the consequences. Rage-quitting is the ultimate catharsis.