The Day Finally Came: My Boss Said I Am The Terminator

I could hardly believe it. It was like my ears were ringing. My boss had just looked me dead in the eye and confirmed something I’d secretly believed to be true my entire life: That I am the Terminator.

“You’re Terminator,” he said. “You’ll need to clean out your desk by the end of the day.”

Deep down I’d always known my destiny was that of a time-traveling cybernetic assassin tasked with saving humanity. Did I expect that the person to acknowledge this belief and set me on my true path would be my office manager? No. Especially since he was always telling me to wear a shirt under my leather trench coat while in the office.

After he broke the big news (that I am the Terminator), I couldn’t help but pump my fist in the air Breakfast Club style. I scrambled through my leather trench coat’s pockets and pulled out my sunglasses and put them on.

“Thank you, sir,” I said. “I won’t let you — or humanity — down.”

My boss looked at me kind of worried (at least I think he did — hard to see with my sunglasses on). “I just want to make sure you heard me correctly,” he said more slowly. “I said you’ve been terminated. It means you’re fired.”

“Of course I am,” I said, squaring my jaw. “How could I not be totally fired up after hearing this news? Now, let’s not waste any more time. Where is the time machine?”

“The time machine?” he said. “You’re being let go because you downloaded a virus that infected the company’s entire computer system.”

“Yes,” I nodded. “And I still never got a coupon for those pills I was interested in. But I don’t hold the company responsible for that, and we’ve obviously got bigger things to worry about. Where is the time machine?”

“Your last paycheck will be sent through the mail,” my manager continued. I shook my head and scratched the rash on my bare chest (leather trench coats chafe like crazy, especially when they’re way too tight). To think I cared about money at a time like this was laughable! I laughed.

“Haha!” I said. “You mortals and your paychecks; like ants collecting crumbs for the queen.”

“Are you doing an accent?” my manager asked.

Now he was being rude. I took the high road. I had a human race to save, after all. Perhaps this was some kind of test. I decided to play grateful.

“Look,” I said. “I vant to tank you for setting me on this quest. I’ve learned a lot from you: How to use the printer; how to transfer calls; how to use the emergency exit after I clogged the toilet so bad it flooded the entire office.”

“Wait, that was you?” he said.

“Zee point is, I am grateful,” I continued. “And I vill take it from here. But if you don’t show me vere zee time machine is so I can complete my mission, I vill just have to find it myself — by any means necessary.”

“That toilet flood caused over $300,000 in damages,” he said.

“Enough!” I shouted, banging my fingerless-gloved fist on the desk and seriously hurting my pinky. “I must find Sarah Connor!” I tried to stand up but my trench coat was caught under my chair so I just kind of wobbled around for a minute.

My manager looked at me for a long time and sighed. “The best I can do is give you a number for Sara Fink in HR,” he said, pulling out a pen and paper. “She can provide you with a reference.”

“A reference for how to get to zee past?” I said.

“Think of it as a reference for how to get to the future,” he replied.

He handed over the paper with the phone number. I was glad I was wearing my sunglasses so he couldn’t see that the rash from my trench coat was spreading up to my eyes and causing them to water. I put the paper in my pocket and finally managed to stand up.

“I’ll be BACK,” I said.

“Please don’t,” he said, but I barely heard him — I was too busy rushing out to find this “Sara Fink” so she could help me save mankind.

But first, a stop in the office restroom. Because there’s no time like the present to leave a little something to remember you by.