To My Old Boss

I was so proud of myself for landing a job helping you out with excess press coverage. With all of my credentials, schooling and internship experience, I was more than prepared for the tasks that awaited me. Or so I thought. Turns out you thought you hired a robot and not a girl who just got her Bachelors in journalism. You micromanaged the hell out of me and never even gave me a chair to sit on. I said the couch was a fine location for the first day (we worked out of your apartment in the city), but I didn't know I was agreeing to day after day of total discomfort. Who buys couches with extremely low backs anymore? Come on. Each day one of two things would happen: You would ask me to do something completely out of my realm of knowledge (and yours too) and then get gripey on my ass with an overbearing parental tone of utter disappointment; You would ask me to do something that I completed like a baller, and then you would slyly disregard my efforts only to later come up with the exact same ideas disguised as your own. After two weeks of evident disapproval on your end and dozens of drinks on mine (and a day where I showed up for work and you asked "what are you doing here?") you "fired" me. You sell feminine independence and girl power, but you never actually gave me the satisfaction of being fired. Like a bad date you just blew me off until I realized I wasn't going to ever get another paycheck from you. The employee before me lasted two hours, and I lasted two weeks. Doesn't that deserve a termination notice? A kick to the curb? An egotistical blow? If you see this, PLEASE FIRE ME. Also, don't put so much cheese in your pasta.