Logistics Strikes Back: Fire Me, Lose Everything

At the annual company banquet, the boss had the tables and chairs from the logistics department removed, leaving only a stainless steel dog bowl in the center of the stage.

"Logistics is just the company's watchdog," he said coldly. "Since when do watchdogs sit at the table and eat?"

The top sales champion laughed as he dumped leftovers into the bowl. The boss casually slipped a black garbage bag over my shoulders.

"From now on, you're the company's living trash can. Catch it properly."

Laughter erupted across the room.

Amid the jeers, I silently tightened my grip on the universal access card in my hand.

What they didn't know was that the building's special approvals for water and electricity—and all its property management connections—were maintained by this very "dog face" of mine.

I tossed my ID badge into the dog bowl and turned to leave.

Let's see how long you last once the new year passes—without logistics there to hold everything together.

The stainless steel bowl—the one used not only to feed dogs but also to hold leftover scraps—now glinted with a harsh, cold light.

Standing on the raised stage, my boss held the envelope that was originally meant for me. His eyes brimmed with mockery.

I took a deep breath.

Instead of lowering my head to pick up that so-called "reward" like I always did, I raised my hand and removed the work badge that had hung around my neck for five years.

With a light flick of my wrist, the badge traced a clean arc through the air and landed with perfect accuracy in the greasy dog bowl. The splash of leftover broth even spattered onto the sales champion's pair of gleaming leather shoes.

The laughter in the room stopped instantly.

"Sandra, what the hell?!"

The Administrative Director, Vanessa Martin, stormed out of the crowd, her ten-centimeter red-soled heels striking sharply against the floor. The evening gown she had specially ordered for the annual party now looked strained, tightened by her anger.

"Have you lost your mind? The boss was joking with you—just livening up the atmosphere! What kind of attitude is that?"

Vanessa pointed straight at my nose, her finger nearly poking my face.

"Stop acting like a child. Without this company, you're nothing. For a logistics job like yours, I could tie up a dog, and it could do the work. And you still think you deserve special treatment?"

I looked at the woman who had parachuted into the company only six months ago.

Just yesterday, she had screamed in the office like a cat with its tail stepped on because the printer jammed, insisting that I drop everything to pull the paper out for her.

Unhurriedly, I removed the black garbage bag from my shoulders, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it casually at my feet.

"If you think even a tied-up dog can do the job," I said calmly, "then I'm relieved."

I straightened my collar. My voice carried not the slightest ripple of emotion.

"So I guess there's no need for a handover, right? I'll give you the keys now, and I'll resign."

Vanessa clearly hadn't expected me to be this decisive. She froze for a moment before glancing toward the boss, who was still standing on the stage.

From afar, he waved his hand dismissively, as if shooing away a fly.

Vanessa immediately stiffened her posture. "Fine. I'll come watch you pack up. Wouldn't want you walking off with so much as a needle from the company."

On the drive back to the office, Vanessa sat in the passenger seat beside me, and her mouth never stopped.

She complained that the annual party had been her carefully planned themed event, and that because she had to supervise me clearing out my things, she had missed the final lucky draw. Her resentment spilled out with every word.

When we arrived at the empty fifteenth floor, I walked to my workstation and picked up the heavy ring of keys from my desk.

"This one's for the high-voltage electrical room on the 15th and 16th floors," I said, holding it up for her to see. "This one's for the low-voltage room. These are for the storage rooms in Zones A and B. And this is the spare key to the boss's office…"

It had taken me years to collect and duplicate this entire set of keys, one by one.

Vanessa stood beside me like a supervisor, her eyes full of disdain.

"Just dump them there," she said impatiently. "Hurry up and get out. For positions this low-level, we'll just outsource in the future. No need to keep freeloaders around."

I opened the drawer and began packing my personal belongings. I didn't have much—just a mug and a small cactus.

When I put a tube of hand cream and a packet of brown sugar ginger tea into my bag, Vanessa suddenly rushed forward and snatched the backpack from my hands.

"I need to check it!"

She dumped everything from the bag onto the desk. Only after confirming there were no company hard drives or documents did she toss the bag back at me.