Last day on the job

At my last stop, a guy had to be escorted out on his last day, talk of threats (by him) filling the corridor.
And I'll add to the don't-burn-bridges chorus. I have friends/acquaintances/references from several stops along the way, and I've given them quite a workout ;D.

 

We had an intern several years back who lasted about three days. He covered a high school all-star baseball game that went 17 innings, lasted six hours because of a rain delay, then had guys from our town win both the offensive and defensive MVP awards. The guy who won defensive MVP played second base for the first time in his life and made an incredible play to save the game in the 15th before finally scoring the winning run in the 17th.
So, with all of these great storylines to choose from, what was the intern's lede?
"Joe Blow (NOT one of our local guys) started the game on a hot and sultry day. He went three innings and gave up one run..."
On top of that, the intern went back to the office that night, turned in his story on a floppy disk and walked out, saying he had to go to dinner with his grandparents. We found out later he was just going to hang out with his girlfriend. Sometime earlier, the intern had also said to someone that he wasn't interested in working nights or weekends.
Intern shows up for work on Monday and my SE just rolls his chair over to Intern's desk and says "Ummm, this isn't going to work out. We don't need you anymore."
Didn't even take him aside.

Almost five years later and we still kid the SE about it. And, strangely, the intern has gone on to become a coach in our circulation area. We don't say much about it to him.

 

My last day at the most recent stop included a cake, and the day before I got lunch.

Class acts, all around.

Two jobs before that, definitely got sacked, the second about a week after my mother died.

Not so much class acts.

 

At my last stop, the publisher had a cake and called a little get-together for well-wishing.

But this was selective. There was no cake the day that I left.

And I thought it was a decent departure. I had to cover a game at 6 p.m. When the clock struck 5:30 p.m., I walked over to my clueless replacement and announced that I was leaving and needed him to finish A1 for me. It probably didn't need more than 30 minutes of work. But I didn't have time. The publisher passed me just as I was leaving. He asked if I was going home and I said that I had to cover a soccer game. He seemed impressed and noted my dedication. That's when I explained that it was for another paper.

 

One of the newside guys at my place started out as an intern. After about three months pretty much everyone knew he would be hired as a reporter, but went to the city editor to ask when the editor was going to make a decision.
City editor said he was in as long as when the editor came in the next morning, Intern wasn't fucking the daughter on the editor's desk.

 

The last day at my last place was uneventful. The last two weeks, which led to the exit, we priceless.

Boss in an e-mail: Give advertising a copy of the story budget so they can coordinate ad sales with the places we're writing about.

Me: I'll do it, but consider this my resignation. I don't work that way, and you know better.

Boss, the next day: I didn't mean that you should give them the budget. I just meant to tell them what kind of places we're writing about.

Me: You always backtrack when someone calls you on an ethical error (I spent my first three months fixing his mess of allowing pay-to-play -- buy an ad, we'll write a story -- a practice which he initially denied was happening). I won't work for someone who isn't honest with me.

Boss, the next day, in front of the big boss: MMSW, if you don't trust me, this isn't going to work out.

Me: Then start looking for my replacement. I'm not joking.

The boss took it as a threat. But out of the blue, I was offered a job the next day. Six business days later, I was gone.

It was nice to make good on a theat, thanks to good timing.

And speaking of good timing, it was nice to see them offer my job to my No. 2 -- and watch my No. 2 respond with his resignation.

 

This was when I was 20. Spent all day covering prep stuff, failed to eat. Assistant sports editor hosts a kegger at his house. While talking to people on his back porch, I pass out in midsentence, allegedly. ASE and another writer drive me home. I call the next day to thank him and he says: "Your replacement backed out. Sure you don't want to stay?"

 

i would say this: don't worry about burning bridges. sometimes it's good to get things off your chest on the way out.

most of them humps you'll never meet down the road anyway. i never have. and i don't care if it do.

 

Copy editor, knowing he was going to be fired, went to editor's office to quit. Editor wasn't there, so he sat down at editor's desk, put a piece of copy paper in the editor's typewriter (this was a long time ago) and typed out his resignation letter. He neatly folded it, put it in an envelope and left it on the editor's desk. Then he picked up the typewriter, carried it to the pawn shop down the street and hocked it for enough money for a bus ticket out of town. True story.

 

And that copy editor? The one who pawned the typewriter? The one who stole copy paper? The one who was about to be fired?

Well, the world knows him now as.... Spnited.... and now you know the rest of the story..... Paul Harvey. Good-DAY