Comedy·TIM HOARDIN'

This meeting is great, but uh, I didn't get a Timbit

Yes, yes, and I love that profit margin for 2019, Catherine, very well done. But I think an important question to ask here is: how many Timbits were in the box?
(Shutterstock / bbernard)

Yes, yes, and I love that profit margin for 2019, Catherine, very well done. But I think an important question to ask here is: how many Timbits were in the box?

I know this may not seem like it concerns the topic at hand. But let me ask you again. How many Timbits were in the box?

Yes that's correct, twenty four. Twenty. Four. That's a lot of Timbits.

If you look at this chart I just sketched up, you'll see that I ate 0% of them. And based on events of the past, I'd say it's safe to project that Jeremy ate 60-70%. Weird, hey.

Can I tell you a story? Is that all right? I know we don't have much time, but I find stories to be quite effective in a meeting setting.

I slept in this morning. It happens. And I, knowing the importance of this meeting, skipped breakfast to be on time: a kind gesture. But was I worried? No. I felt confident that my caring and thoughtful employer would provide for me. I have come to expect at least ONE TIMBIT to keep me alive until noon.

I agree it is important discuss time management, Linda. That is a good point.

I went to the washroom one time, for one minute. I come back, all the TImbits are gone. The box is gone. I'm thinking, "oh that's weird, maybe they put my share of the Timbits in the fridge," then I smiled a little, thinking about how thoughtful you all are. I go to the staff kitchen. I open the fridge. I push all of your lunches out of the way. No Timbits. I pull all of your lunches out of the fridge. No Timbits. I throw your lunches in the trash. And STILL. No Timbits.

But I shake it off. I'm 38. I adjust my tie, I plaster on a smile, and I come back in here to face you.  

I. Peed. One. Time. Need I remind you that Pee Jay over here has been four times? And how many timbits did you get, Pee Jay? Oh come on, you must know we call you that.

Pull up the PowerPoint please.

I emailed it to you, Brian. You do remember emails, right?

Pull it up.

SLIDE ONE: Good morning and welcome.

SLIDE TWO: We have a lot of upcoming projects and budgets to discuss today, but THANK GOD we have a sweet treat to get us through the next 20-25 minutes.

SLIDE THREE: A box of 24 timbits sits on a table

SLIDE FOUR: Close-up on the box

SLIDE FIVE: The number 24

SLIDE SIX:  The number 24 (Timbits) divided by the number 6 (how many of us there are)

SLIDE SEVEN: Equals 4 (the number of Timbits we should each get)

Cut the PowerPoint, Brian. Turn it off.

I know the world isn't always fair. And I certainly don't expect everyone to eat only four Timbits. But I expect you to save me at least one. Not even a measly Old Fashioned. Not a crumb. The box discarded like a bloody murder weapon you all used against me.

Turn the lights on.

Then turn them on more, Brian.

Up until today I have thoroughly enjoyed working here. I have loved getting to know each of you. I have felt respected by the higher-ups. I have revelled in the health and dental benefits. I loved my desk. My stapler. Heck, I loved these meetings. But I am done.

This is my formal resignation. Thank you for the years of comradery, but fuck you for this Timbit bullshit.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jordanne Brown is a comedian and writer. She is the proud owner of a Comedy Writing and Performance diploma from Humber College, Eugene Levy 2017 Writing Award, and the 2017 Tim Sims Encouragement Award. Jordanne has performed in Toronto Sketch Fest with her troupe Boys Club, is half of the sketch duo "I'm Coke and She's Cola", and a writer and performer on F*ckgirls, a new web-series!