The End, [otherwise known as "The Beginning"]

Every Tuesday we had a "Team Meeting," a necessity for every mothership-conglomerate. Of course by "Team Meeting" I mean important people had better things to do so it would be me and the Nutjob who would only cancel the meeting once it became apparent no one else was going to show up.

The "Team Meeting" was a big one that week: Nutjob, myself, Calvin, and the guy who kept telling me to, "Hang in there." We hadn't had a showing like that in weeks!

I had pretty much entirely stopped taking any kind of notes in these meetings. Unless it was a direct comment to me to, "Call so&so," or, "Do this&that," nothing had any direct relevance to me or my job. It seemed these meetings existed to make others feel important, nothing was ever accomplished with the exception of new org charts. I took to doodling instead, writing, "I hate this job," and "This sucks," in the margins of my yellow legal pad. Childish, but it made me feel better.

At the conclusion of the meeting, "Hang in there" again recognized how slow it had been for me, but said it was going to get better.

It was at this moment that the Nutjob decided to add something to this convo which would forever a) brand her as the Nutjob and b) alter the course of my life.

She said, "Oh Amanda has been busy lately because I've been giving her all my shit work to do," and then she laughed as if this was the funniest thing ever.

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

To their credit, Calvin and "Hang in there" didn't laugh or even crack a smile.

Now, I knew I was given all her "shit work" to do as it was obvious every time she walked by a copy machine to ask me to make photocopies. I was managing to get by doing her "shit work" when it only existed between the two of us, like some dirty secret, but now the secret was out and everyone knew all I was good for was her "shit work."

I fumed the rest of the day, embarrassed, humiliated, and feeling like an idiot.

When I went to work the following Monday and started preparing to quit, a task made simpler by the deep cleaning I'd done a few weeks prior when the Nutjob told me I was being moved to another cube. I'd spent an afternoon cleaning and boxing up files, office supplies, and anything personal. Anything personal I took home, I wanted no part of the self I held sacred to be contained in that cube. Of course, after I'd boxed everything up and told the Nutjob it was ready for the movers, she told me she had forgotten to tell me that they'd changed their mind and I wasn't being moved. (See? Nutjob.)

By Wednesday I had cleaned out my electronic files, forwarded anything outstanding, and thrown out anything that said, "I hate my job," or, "This sucks."

I think the Nutjob knew something was up. She came to me and said, "Would you like the write the TPS white paper?"

In that moment, I knew without a doubt I was making the right decision, because...

"I already wrote the TPS white paper."

"Oh," said Nutjob giving me a good whack on the shoulder, "That TPS white paper," and she laughed. How she could forget was beyond me as that white paper had been sent out in a mass email and approved in a committee for distribution two months before.

An hour later I was turning in my resignation. What follows, is the last conversation I plan to ever have with the Nutjob.

Me: I'm turning in my resignation.

NJ: I'm not surprised. You're underutilized.

Me: I think when I started here we were all overly optimistic about what this job would be, that it would include more writing and-

NJ interrupts: And that hasn't happened.

Me: No, it hasn't.

NJ: If there were three things I could have done differently, what would they be?

Me: Well, for one, I would've preferred to have been kept a lot busier. And for another, for someone in my position who already feels underutilized, it doesn't help to hear you telling others that you're giving me all your "shit work" to do.

NJ: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That is not how I meant it. What I meant is that I'm giving you work that's beneath your ability.

Me: Well, it was completely humiliating.


My voice of reason was quite right in advising me to turn in a proper letter of resignation as opposed to just not showing up anymore. I derived a great amount of satisfaction in telling the Nutjob why I was quitting. And while I didn't go out in a blaze of glory a la Steven Slater, I did feel as if I'd made a point to the Nutjob that she would really choose her words a bit more carefully.

Then I went out and got drunk on beer and fried pickle chips.