Quitting my job for Bob
Author: Pastor Steve
Way back in '81, I gave up. I was a starving, frop smoking, struggling
actor. Working minimum wage jobs in between the all too few and far
between acting jobs was hard and slack deficient. At my lowest point,
living outside, crashing on friends couches on lucky nights and sleeping
in laundramats on nights that weren't so lucky, I cashed in my chips and
joined the Air Force. I knew what I was doing. I knew I was selling my
soul. I even knew what path this alternate reality would take me down.
Bob help me, I did it anyway.
I did the four years I signed up for. I got married to my high school
sweet-heart (we're still together by the way and crazy about each
other). Nine months after we got married (almost to the day), our
daughter was born and I swallowed the Con's dirty little pill that it
was now time to really grow up and join the adult world. Even though I
joined the "responsible" world, I never seemed to fit in. I was
outspoken and politically incorrect. I was openly Libertarian and at
times libertine. I was a long-hair among the suits. They knew it, no
matter how short my hair was coifed. When I was around the herd grew
restless. They could smell wolf even though I had long ago donned
sheeps clothing (or perhaps a sheep in wolfs clothing). I was a Pagan,
thrown to the Christians.
For the last 16 years, I've lived inside of the Conspiracy. I've been a
dupe that wasn't duped. I traded freedom for three squares a day. I
stopped gardening because I could just drop some cash on a conveyor and
get some peas and corn in a plastic bag (for my convienience). I get no
joy from my days and wish most of them away. Each weekday starts with
the dread of another day spent trapped in a dead-end job and each
weekend I awake with the knowlege I'll be back on Monday morning. Joy
happens by accident and all too infrequently.
Then finally, with what seemed like crashing suddeness, I turned to my
wife one day and said "I hate my life."
She knew that I didn't mean "our" life. She knew that I meant the job,
the sell-out, the bullshit and the stress.
That was two years ago. We've batted around ideas. I changed
departments at work to do something that I really love (computer repair)
but it was only a temporary fix. After much inner and outer discussion,
I walked confidently into my bosses office and announced that I was
leaving to go into business for myself. I gave them a date of July 15th
(that's when I can pick up my wife's medical benefits). Plenty of
notice, too much perhaps, but I felt it was good karma to inform them of
my decision as soon as I was quite sure of it. Besides, now I can work
toward my goals openly without having to make up lies. I can talk
openly to the Human resources department and make sure that I have all
of my ducks in a row so I don't get screwed out of anything.
I know this transition won't be easy. I'm kinda pretty fucking scared.
I'm also kinda pretty fucking brave so I'm gonna do this and not turn
back. I probably have a struggle in front of me. At least now the
struggle is mine and I've taken control back of my own destiny.
After all, I'm a Yetti if I don't fucking say so myself.
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