I saw the little note you left for me in my break room mailbox. Ya know, one of those little "warning slips" you leave people when they do something wrong like clock in late or have an unexcused absence. Or, in my case, stay late to help hold back the hellish avalanche of stress and anguish that has been sliding down the Mountain of Manageable Workloads for the last few months.
Since you have no intentions of melting that ravaging cascade of snowy terror, it's fallen upon the already-frostbitten shoulders of your employees to stop it. And I don't think we should be punished for putting ourselves in harm's way.
Let me ask you: did Superman get a warning slip for "destruction of public property" when he ripped a streetlight out of the ground to use in his fight against whatever super villain happens to be in those comic books? No! Because in the end, Superman stopped [insert appropriate super villain here] from destroying the entire city! In the grand scheme of things, that streetlight--or the fact that one quarter block of the street won't be adequately illuminated--doesn't seem like such a big deal when you consider how much worse the situation could've been. For instance, no one in the city would've been able to see anything if they'd been killed by that aforementioned super villain. Because dead people can't see shit. So...there's that.
And do you really think John McClaine ever got a warning slip for anything he did in any of the Die Hard movies? Hell no! And that motherfucker launched a car into a helicopter! My point is: sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make a delicious, fluffy, stress-free work environment.
In this case, those eggs happen to be the twenty five minutes I stayed late to ensure my job was completely finished and didn't get left for someone else to "clean up." So, ya see, even if I'm breakin' eggs, I'm still making sure I take care of the egg mess. I'm careful all the yolk gets into the pan, I wipe up any splatters, and I even use one of those disinfecting wipes on any excess stickiness.
I am a fucking omelette master! And I deserve a raise!
What I'm trying to get at here--amazing metaphors aside--is that if you think someone should be penalized for not being a worthless sack of omelette fodder and actually trying to help you, then you good sir, are a jackass.
-- Your employee