born freeeeeeeeeee as free as the wind bloooooooooows~
On Sunday my dipshit of a manager pissed me off for the very last time, and so I put my notice in on the spot. I dropped off an ~official~ copy yesterday afternoon, and Jeff asked, "Are you quitting?"
"Hell yes, I am," I said, and stomped my ass over to the office and dropped my resignation letter on the counter.
He laughed and told me he was proud of me, and the whole time Linda-- world's shittiest manager and the best reason for leaving a job I've ever encountered-- was giving me sideeye. She finally came up to me before I left, simpering little face all screwed up like she was afraid of me, and asked if I was planning on working out the rest of the week. I told her yes, I was going to work out my notice and the letter was on the counter, and she nodded and slithered away into the dark recesses of her little office cave.
I cannot explain to you how elated I am to have quit. I feel like writing an epic poem about the joy and relief I feel, like I could fly, like I could go to work tonight and punch some dickbutt customer in the face.
Well, I could do that anyway, but now that couldn't fire me if I did BECAUSE I'M QUITTING. In one week, I will never have to work there ever again for as long as I fucking live.
Excuse me, I need to go weep manly, manly tears.
"Hell yes, I am," I said, and stomped my ass over to the office and dropped my resignation letter on the counter.
He laughed and told me he was proud of me, and the whole time Linda-- world's shittiest manager and the best reason for leaving a job I've ever encountered-- was giving me sideeye. She finally came up to me before I left, simpering little face all screwed up like she was afraid of me, and asked if I was planning on working out the rest of the week. I told her yes, I was going to work out my notice and the letter was on the counter, and she nodded and slithered away into the dark recesses of her little office cave.
I cannot explain to you how elated I am to have quit. I feel like writing an epic poem about the joy and relief I feel, like I could fly, like I could go to work tonight and punch some dickbutt customer in the face.
Well, I could do that anyway, but now that couldn't fire me if I did BECAUSE I'M QUITTING. In one week, I will never have to work there ever again for as long as I fucking live.
Excuse me, I need to go weep manly, manly tears.
Click to view