Two Truths and a Lie
I clicked “send” on my resignation email just before noon on a Sunday. I made a friendly wager with myself to see how long it would take before I received a response. Fifteen minutes? Thirty? Wrong. One full hour before it was accepted.
My soon-to-be-former boss replied “Meet me at _____ with all company equipment you have.” My exit Monday morning went smoothly. Sign here, initial there. Everything was returned in very good condition. No hard feelings whatsoever. Any choice words I wanted to say, I kept to myself. Go out professionally, right?
Why did I choose to leave you ask, especially after barely approaching a year in the position? I give the answer I’ve given in the few interviews I’d been in the weeks prior: “My career path did not match the company’s direction.” ‘Nuff said.
Wednesday the same week arrived. The shackles of freedom weighed heavily on me. A phone call I’d been waiting on from a potential opportunity came as I was dropping off my vehicle of barely a month. The conversation went great and came with a condition, “You’ve got the job as long as you haven’t killed anyone recently.” The thought came to me on several occasions in the past year. The new gig was mine contingent on passing a background check & drug screening. And here we go again.
Two days before I turned in my resignation, I needed to attend one last company meeting. It was themed mind you: dress up in your best country gear–jeans allowed. A 6a.m. wake-up call is not out of the ordinary. Going out to my vehicle while the sun stayed hidden farther east was my challenge. After opening the car door, I reached my laptop across to the passenger seat. Not realizing my computer popped the parking brake, my lovely new compact car began rolling down the driveway. I was angled in an awkward position and couldn’t reach my brake pedal. Thankfully, the lamppost across the street was able to stop my momentum and not an oncoming vehicle or early morning jogger. My driver’s side tail-lamp was cracked and my bumper was scratched up badly. I sat there for almost a minute before getting pissed at the humor of the situation. I wanted to sing, “Like a good neighbor,” and hope I could rewind back to ten minutes prior, but I had a meeting to attend. All this and the desire to resign from my job made for an interesting Friday morning.
Dear reader, I’ve not always been comfortable to enjoy the now. I’m always looking past the moment, wondering “what’s next?” I get bit by the wanderlust bug once every few decades. Call it boredom, call it dissatisfaction or chalk it up to mid-life hitting me. There’s a gnawing feeling in the back of my mind I know I can do better…
That’s not to say I’m not content with how my life is currently. Alright fine, I’m not.
If you’ve been reading my confessionals you’ll know (now) switching careers only brought me temporary joy. After a stretch of nearly six months, sobriety is 3/4 of my week. The occasional Friday and most Saturdays are open to imbibing a bottle of vino–it’s good for the heart, right?
But I still go to church as often as I can and I say my prayers nightly.
According to my mother, I once had aspirations of being a garbage collector. Had I gone down that path, I’d probably be Union and fairly set. I put a lot of eggs in my job basket. Counted them too early and ended up breaking a lot of ’em too. While I was able to learn a lot of things from my last gig, there were things I learned I didn’t like doing in sales. So it was inevitable for me to move on.
A week and a half has come since my resignation. I’ve been finding odd jobs to do around my house now that school has begun. My pug and I can’t sit around and laze all day. Alright, my pug can but I can’t.
My new boss swung by and we chatted up on what I should be reading to prepare me for my new position. No official offer made until the background check comes back. The drug screening and physical are the highlights of my week so far. I can safely say my vision is 20/20. Ten push-ups and five sit-ups don’t wind me too badly. Lifting thirty pounds (while remembering to bend with my knees) wasn’t a chore either. My blood pressure was slightly borderline though. I’ll chalk that up to the waiting game.
I’m not counting how many days I’ve had off, I’m counting how many days I haven’t been paid. Jumping without a parachute was necessary for my mental well being. It’s the waiting that sucks.
Watch this space. By next month, we’ll be talking about unicorns and ponies again.
Did I tell you what I’m gonna be doing yet? I’ll be your friendly neighborhood wine guy, hence the weekend practicing.
You know you want to hang out with me again.