No Turning Back

So it's done: the new job accepted, the formal offer letter signed, my coworkers and managers notified, the letter of resignation sent and received. And I'm at home all by myself totally freaking out. I need someone to talk to - ooh, and there you are! You'll do nicely.

For all the panic and pointlessness, in a lot of ways the job I'm leaving is the most fun job I've ever had. Well, the people are fun. Some of the work was fairly pleasant. But the people are the most fun people I've ever worked with. Well, some of the people. There are a few sucky people scattered here and there, let's face it; but pointing and laughing is also a form of fun, so it's all good, right? Granted, the majority of the people I like best have already quit. But I'm still very attached to a handful of people I'll be leaving behind, and to the playful, silly, fun, wildly inappropriate work environment I've enjoyed. When I stopped by the new office late this afternoon to sign their offer letter and make it official, my new boss introduced me around. A few people had already left for the day, but it appears that the office is almost entirely female. So who am I going to sexually harass now?!?

My supervisor accepted my resignation regretfully but kindly, told me that, if it were just a matter of money, she thought they might be able to match the offer, wished me the best when I said I had decided the new position was a better fit for me, and when I said it was hard to leave because everyone is so nice, told me that it's only because I'm so nice (oof) and that I should be very proud of having built such a good reputation. Then she hugged me and started to tear up a little and sent me away.

I sure hope she never finds this blog.

The division director, when I was introduced to her, asked if I currently work in the Sheriff's group, which I do. "I hope she's not upset with us!" the division director said. "She worked with us on getting a reporting program set up. She was really helpful."

"She's an extremely intelligent person," I said, "really knows her stuff inside and out."

"She sure does!" said the division director. "And quick, too - just jumping from one thought to the next; she's really something to see."

"She can eat a whole Super Monster burrito from Freebird's in one sitting," I added.

I do get a window cube, and it's noticeably larger than my current one. My plants will be happy. I am not sure if there's enough metal cabinet surface space for all the magnetic letters, but maybe, with time, if my new coworkers are cool, I can put some of them on the big filing cabinet outside my cube and let everybody play with them. I did think it was promising that one of the already-gone-for-the-day people had a big sign up on the wall outside his cube - just a plain white sign with black lettering:

YOU ARE HERE

I guess I am.

It's So High School

Katie shouldn't leave her school notes lying around when it's cleaning-up time, because then we review loose papers to see if they can be pitched, and then we discover that one of Katie's best friends, recently ditched by her boyfriend, feels like dieing [sic], but is willing to put this ultimate fate off a little longer once Katie assures her heartily that everybody else loves her, enjoys her company, needs her friendship, and would miss her terribly. "Like me," says Katie, who is a kind-hearted little soul.

"Okay, I guess," writes her friend.

Hands up, everybody who's glad not to be a teenager anymore!

But teenaged angst never quite goes away, does it? There's always that insecurity, that terror of rejection. You can put a braver face on it; you can let go of things faster; but in that initial heartbreaking moment of truth, the pain is every bit as awful now as it was when you were a 15-year-old poster child for over-the-counter acne medicine.

So in mature adulthood as well as in adolescence, it's nice to have friends who will run interference for you. What would it mean, exactly, I wondered, if a friend of mine were to offer to perform this service by me? Would it be that my friend is a guy, and the interesting object in question would also be a guy; so therefore, my friend's addressing the Interesting Object on my behalf in Officially Accepted Guy Terms™ would cause I.O. to don a nice big Christmas bow and drop into my lap?

Well, maybe not. But the intermediary acts as a buffer, which is logical enough. I.O. could convey his grateful regrets to my friend with a great deal less empathetic awkwardness than he might feel if forced to deal with me directly; and, if rejected, I could receive a rejection of unarguable intent, yet couched in the gentlest terms, from someone who cared for me.

If this weren't all entirely hypothetical, I'd pass you a note in 4th period to tell you how it all turned out.