March 5, 2017

New Job/Old Job/Current Job

I did it!
As time flutters by and depression weighs in during a Trump "presidency," The Hen has sadly evolved into a monthly newsletter. Thankfully, a backwards agenda can't shut down a volunteer blog, so The Hen will carry on through it all. Even if it's less frequently, we've come too far together and you've followed my silliness for too long to let mild despair shut me down! The Hen will keep clucking and you should too.

Since my last article about my utter failure at a new job was a smash hit (I really quit!), I guess I should continue with that for that ratings. Thankfully for my blog, my journey with the new/old job didn't end after I quit.

As I expected when I wrote my e-mail of resignation, my contact asked if I could return my key card that day. As awkward as that would be, I still felt good about my decision and drove to the office that afternoon. I hoped my key card would still work so I could just walk straight to her office, hand her the key, and run away forever. It didn't. This prolonged the agony, forcing me to call her direct line from the empty lobby so she could come to me instead.

She came out to the stark lobby with a faintly apologetic look. I handed her the key card with a stiff arm, and babbled on about how sorry I was it didn't work out, how I valued their time, and how I was claustrophobic. She was understanding in a motherly way, and also let me know they would still pay me for my brief time there. I'd be welcome to awkwardly visit again at the end of the month to pick up my check. Pleasantly surprised, I sauntered off to happy hour, thinking of my 16 hours of earnings.

I waited a few extra days after the end of the month so I wouldn't look too desperate for a paycheck that was barely 3 digits. I made another hour-long trek for another awkward office visit, hoping to avoid anyone I'd met, and just flap in and out of there. As I pulled into the parking lot, heart fluttering a bit, I saw a large man smoking in the parking lot: my would-be boss. I avoided eye contact and sped past him, parking many spaces away from the office door. I flew inside to speak to a clueless receptionist, who didn't know anything about me or my check. She wrote down my name and phone number and would look into it. I took it over bumping into anyone else.

I'm sorry?
When I stepped outside, my would-be boss was eyeing me from his smoking spot. I tried to sprint to my car, but it was no use; he hollered my name. I did the best I could with my acting skills: "surprised," "happy to talk to him," and "emotionally stable." Boss man knew I was pecking around for my check, and he explained that because I didn't work there anymore, they'd mail the check. (Thanks for the false information, hiring lady!) I gave him the same spiel about how the job wasn't for me and how sorry I was, but he wouldn't let me go. He continued to explain to me why my check wasn't there and why they mailed it instead. Then he rephrased it again, and told me to e-mail him if I didn't have it in a few days. After a lot of nods and "okay's" I shook his hand for (hopefully) the last time and flapped away.

I checked the mail daily, eager for my little quitting bonus and for this brief chapter to be closed. After a few days of no check, I waited a few more days to avoid e-mailing would-be boss. And after a check-less few few more days, I decided it was time to e-mail him. Two people had promised me money for my suffering, so I wanted it. He wrote me back to confirm the address I'd already sent him and that they had in my paperwork, and I went back to waiting.

Two check-less weeks later, I was ready to send another nagging e-mail. Before I did, I checked the mail one more time and there it was in all its glory. My quitting bonus had arrived and this brief, painfully prolonged, chapter of my working life was closed 5 weeks later.

The End.


KEEP READING! "My New Job, My Old Job."

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