On Monday I had to leave my day job. The writing on the wall had been clear for a number of days, and the intractability of the situation I'd found myself made it more of a final straw that broke the back of the situation. I'm ashamed to admit it, but in the end I fucked up and it was a big enough fuck up that I had to wear all of the blame for it. It was a little like a cloth unraveling from a thread being pulled. This situation deteriorated pretty fast.
My company boss - you remember him, the little tyrant - was furious and seemed to think I wasn't contrite enough for my mistake; but then by the time he was yelling and screaming at me, I think I was half way out the door. I don't mind being blamed for mistakes I made - I can own up to those. I just can't stand it if it is couched as my being tepid in my commitment to the job or malicious sabotage or stupidity. For even one of those things to be a part of the consideration, revealed he held me in very low esteem. I realised contempt had crawled into the picture, and that's a tough one from which to come back.
I spent the weekend thinking about the mistake and how it came about and what more I could have done to have avoided it as well as various scenarios that could unfold. Sometimes all it takes is that "you fuck one goat"; and this goat wasn't going to get un-fucked. Of course the little tyrant had also spent his weekend fuming about my mistake, but rational analysis and management are not his strong suit. That's why I had the job I had; If he could do rational analysis and management, I wouldn't have a job in the first place because that's what I was effectively hired to do. The ironic logic in this is quite hilarious - but that too is life.
By lunchtime Monday, the situation had hit rock bottom with neither of us willing to trust one another's judgment. At that point you realise things are over and there's really no turning back. As manager Joe Torre used to say after post-season losses with the Yankees, "it is what it is"; and what it was, was that it was time.
You see in American films and TV shows where people leave jobs, and they pack boxes with personal effects and trudge out the door humiliated. I've always felt that was a bad look. In my time at the Events Lighting firm, I'd always considered it more likely than not that I would have to leave at the drop of the hat, given the peculiar (infantile, I might add) personality of the the little tyrant. So for the entire 8year tenure, I had that eventuality pictured in my head: The way I would leave would be to reach for my golden Don Draper AO Aviator sunglasses, put them on suavely and leave with a movie star smirk. Minimum fuss, maximum cool.
Except it didn't quite work out that way. I had to take the cat - yes, the factory cat I have been looking after for 18 months - and that meant I had to carry way more than a cardboard box. So much for the minimum fuss and maximum cool thing. For whatever it's worth, the cat hasn't really stopped purring since she's moved in - clearly she likes it better at my place than the factory.
On my way out I got a goodbye-bear-hug from one of my colleagues. I shook hands with another colleague who seemed strangely delighted I was leaving. A couple of others from the crew emailed me their best wishes. My General Manager to whom I reported, offered to write me a glowing reference. I have no regrets except to say I let her down at the end.
Between me getting the cat and the company losing my contribution, I figure I did better out of the divorce. You learn some things from cats. Like landing on your feet. Next week, I start work for the publisher Puncher & Wattman. Just as I did years ago for the Events Lighting company, I'll be doing a couple of days per week of office admin work. I'm looking forward to the challenge of helping this one grow. It will be a franchise closer to my heart than the little tyrant and his medieval fiefdom, and for that I consider myself extremely lucky.
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