Last Thursday I turned in my letter of resignation.
It was necessary. I’m getting married and moving about an hour away.
When I started this job, I was at one of the lowest points in my life. I drove by the place, saw the “Help Wanted” sign, applied for a job I knew almost nothing about, and was hired immediately. The owner offered to train me as her apprentice in return for a two-year commitment.
I hit the two-year mark Oct. 29.
When I turned in my resignation, I thought I’d feel like celebrating. You have NO IDEA have many times I’ve fantasized about ripping off my uniform in the middle of the place and marching out the door in a personal declaration of topless freedom.
But I don’t feel like celebrating. I feel like I’ve tipped the first domino in a 60-day chain that will include leaving my job, packing, bridal showers, moving, the holidays, and getting married.
It’s overwhelming.
Anyway, the plan at work is for me to train four people to take my place. FOUR. The idea makes me tired, but I can rally. My new fantasy is to leave the place after doing a month of my best work, to leave it with a seamless transition.
And if that doesn’t work, I can ALWAYS walk out topless.
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