Vacations were a luxury I rarely thought about.
For years, I’d worked without complaint, putting in extra hours and handling crises with the kind of dedication you don’t see often anymore.
But when my sister announced her wedding date, I decided it was time. Just a few days off—that’s all I wanted.
I didn’t expect it to be a problem. I had the seniority, the track record, and frankly, the right to ask for it.
But when Mr. Dunne became my boss, it didn’t seem to matter what I’d earned.
He wasn’t just the type to move the goalposts; he uprooted them completely.
What I didn’t know then was that my simple request for time off would set off a chain of events that would change everything—for both of us.
The Perfect Employee
I’d been working at the same place—a mid-sized logistics company—for years.
My job wasn’t glamorous, but I liked it.
I managed client accounts, ensuring orders were processed smoothly and on time. It meant juggling spreadsheets, emails, and the occasional late-night phone call to resolve an emergency, but I didn’t mind.
Over time, I became the go-to person for everything. When shipments went missing or inventory didn’t match, people turned to me.
“Jamie will fix it,” they’d say, and I usually did.
Then came Mr. Dunne.
From the moment he stepped into the role of department manager, it was clear his priorities were different.
He didn’t care about the clients or the team. He cared about numbers.
Labor costs, profit margins, department bonuses—those were his concerns.
He had this way of brushing off anything he didn’t find immediately useful, which included people. If you weren’t helping him meet his metrics, you didn’t matter.
When I asked for my vacation, I thought he’d understand.
“I just need three days,” I said during our weekly meeting. “My sister’s wedding is next month.”
He didn’t even look up from his laptop. “That’s not going to work,” he said, his fingers still tapping on the keyboard.
I paused, sure I’d misheard. “It’s just three days. I can plan everything in advance so nothing falls through the cracks.”
He sighed, finally glancing at me.
“We’ve got deadlines coming up, Jamie. This isn’t the time for people to start slacking off.”
Slacking off?
I opened my mouth to respond, but he was already moving on, clicking through a spreadsheet like I wasn’t even there.
Exploitation and Resentment
The vacation denial was bad enough, but things didn’t stop there.
“We’re making some adjustments to the schedule,” Mr. Dunne announced at our team meeting the following week. “We’ve got to tighten up labor hours. You’ll all still have plenty to do, but we’ll be more efficient this way.”
Efficient, my foot. My hours were slashed, but my workload doubled.
The worst part wasn’t the extra work—it was knowing why he was doing it.
Managers like Mr. Dunne got bonuses for keeping labor costs low. Cutting my hours was a move to pad his own pockets, plain and simple.
Despite the frustration, I kept doing my job. I wasn’t about to let clients suffer or let my coworkers bear the brunt of his decisions.
But every time I fixed one of his errors—a missed email, a botched report, a shipment sent to the wrong location—it felt like pouring water into a bucket with a hole in it.
“He’s lucky to have you,” one of my coworkers said during a lunch break. “No one else would put up with this.”
I smiled faintly, but inside, I was starting to wonder why I did.
The breaking point came when Mr. Dunne presented one of my reports to upper management during a video call.
It was a summary of our most recent accounts, a detailed analysis I’d spent hours putting together.
“Great work on this,” the regional director said. “This is the kind of attention to detail we need.”
“Thanks,” Mr. Dunne replied, grinning like he’d done the work himself. He didn’t even glance in my direction.
That night, I sat at my desk at home, staring at my email drafts. The resignation letter I’d started weeks ago was still there, unfinished.
I opened it, took a deep breath, and began typing.
The Breaking Point
The morning I handed in my resignation, the look on Mr. Dunne’s face was priceless.
“You’re what?” he stammered, holding the letter like it might catch fire in his hands.
“I’m resigning,” I said calmly, keeping my voice even despite the satisfaction bubbling under the surface. “Effective immediately.”
“But—you can’t just leave,” he spluttered. “What about the accounts? The deadlines?”
I shrugged. “You’ve been telling us we’re a team, right? I’m sure you’ll manage.”
I didn’t stick around for the fallout.
By the time the day was over, I was already packing up my desk, saying quiet goodbyes to coworkers who either whispered encouragement or looked nervously at the chaos brewing in Mr. Dunne’s office.
It wasn’t until later that I learned just how bad things had gotten.
Apparently, Mr. Dunne had been planning a week-long vacation starting the very next day—a last-minute getaway to some luxury resort.
He’d banked on me handling the department in his absence, confident that I’d keep everything running smoothly like I always had.
Without me, his carefully laid plans began to unravel.
Karma in Action
Two days after I left, I got a text from a former coworker.
It was a photo of Mr. Dunne standing in the office, phone pressed to his ear, looking frazzled.
“He’s losing it,” the text read. “No one knows what they’re doing without you.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I’d spent years fixing problems he barely noticed, and now he was getting a front-row seat to how much I’d propped him up.
Later that week, another text came through. This time, it was from a different coworker, someone who’d always been more sympathetic to Mr. Dunne’s antics.
“You’re not gonna believe this,” it read.
Apparently, Mr. Dunne had been forced to cancel his vacation.
With multiple accounts in disarray and his attempts to delegate falling flat, he had no choice but to stay behind and try to salvage the mess.
But it didn’t end there.
The resort he’d booked had a strict cancellation policy, and with such short notice, he’d lost the non-refundable deposit—a hefty sum, according to my coworker.
And then came the call.
“Jamie, hey, it’s Mr. Dunne,” the voice on the other end said, his usual condescension replaced by something closer to desperation. “Listen, I know things got a little tense between us, but we really need you back. I’m sure we can work something out—better pay, more flexibility—whatever you need.”
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him sweat before replying.
“Thanks, but I’ve already started a new job,” I said, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “One that actually values what I bring to the table.”
He tried a few more feeble attempts to convince me, but I shut him down politely. By the end of the call, his tone had shifted to resigned defeat.
As I hung up, I couldn’t help but think about how ironic it all was.
He’d denied me a few simple days off, and now his own vacation had turned into a costly reminder of everything he’d done wrong.