
Dear Visteon,
I hate you. Hate you with a deep and abiding passion. You closed my place of work despite its successful financial record, citing a need to “concentrate on core business.” You neglected to explain why core business should be ones in which you lose money. You fired me, you sons of bitches.
Oh, I was getting over that. I was ready to mooch off my spouse for a few months. And so I moved to where we would have at least one income. I made sure to change my address so important documents would reach me. I made very sure. I have a copy of this confirmation. You’ve seen it, you know you have. You fucking sent it to me.
And after a few weeks of jobless depression, I learned that my severance check has, in fact, been sent to Indiana. My old address. The one that you promised was changed and out of the system. Remember that one? Obviously you do, since you loved it so much you could leave it behind. Remember that promise that the address was correct? Oh, my, something went wrong in the system. (And meanwhile, I check my address in the handy online system. It claims the only one on record is South Carolina. Well done, system.)
And today, I get a disbursement check from my 401k with you. Disbursement, not rollover, which means it’s 20% less than I want it to be. I invested that stuff for a reason — partly so I don’t have to think about it ever again, but partly so it is not taxed. And I call to find out why, and I learn that it’s because I wasn’t up to the $5000 limit that’s required to participate in the plan after I’m no longer an employee. (Not only did you fire me, but I’m not rich enough to remember? Oh, fuck you!) And the letter which would have explained all this and offered me a chance to ROLLOVER the funds and keep my lovely little 20%? Oh, that went to the old address.
The one I have tried to change about ten billion times.
Now I have to learn about how tax law relates to retirement plan rollovers. I have to research making a deposit to my other 401k plan, then, next April, reclaim the taxes you already sent to the government. I hate this. I am not an accountant for a damn good reason: anything more complicated than writing a check makes my brain hurt. And so you incompentant fucktards have made me cry, out of frustration and desperation and even partly out of fear that you will somehow find yet another thing to abuse my very-bad-at-money brain with, months after I thought I was rid of your dysfunctional bullshit.
Go bankrupt and die. Luckily, my intimate knowledge of your engineering and management practices reassures me that your path towards that end is very, very short. There’s a reason your stock isn’t worth dirt.
Most sincerely,
Your former engineer
If politicians bail out the auto industry, I will just curl up and die. I logically know that letting them collapse in a puddle of their own viscous incompetence is bad for the nation. But oh dear god they don’t know how to do anything right. I am surprised each and every time I start my car that it doesn’t blow up in my face. Even out of the automotive industry, they keep finding new and creative ways to fuck with my head.
Now I’ll go find something old, quaint, and amusing for tomorrow’s post. Or cook something retro for dinner. Anything to avoid reading more tax law.