Archive: Working Girl

As I drove in to work today, observing the shafts of summer’s last sunlight cutting through the trees, I reminded myself that I would not make the same drive on Monday. Or the next day. Or the day after that. Today is my last day at this company and it feels very strange.

My cube-neighbor put together a good luck party on Tuesday, for which the calendar invitation read:

Goodbyes are the pits so instead we’ll have a GOOD LUCK party for RA. She doesn’t like surprises so she’s been informed about the event, but a separate email will come with details.

My co-workers assembled all of my favorite things to eat, which, when viewed in one place, compose the most random selection of foods. I had my choice of chili, caprese salad, Funfetti cupcakes with strawberry frosting, dill pickles, Swedish fish, Red Vines, and gummy bears. I have rather eclectic taste, I suppose, although the collective effect is a bit nauseating. I received a scrapbook of workplace pictures (my bridal shower, my birthdays, Halloween costumes), thoughtful notes, and puns! If that weren’t enough, we played a cutthroat game of Apples to Apples because it’s public knowledge that I am a board game enthusiast. I enjoyed all of the work they put into it, but the whole time, I couldn’t help but think, Man, they really have me down. It was almost spooky.

To get me through a packed week, I made aggressive to-do lists and took great pleasure in slashing through each item with a permanent marker. Each black line brought me that much closer to being finished and I relished the feeling. When I cleaned out my cube, I was startled to realize how much stuff I depended on to make my desk my own. Old birthday cards, fortune-cookie sayings, a lei from my bridal shower, and rubber ducks were all packed up into a copy box, along with a drug store’s worth of contact solution, hand lotion, lip balm, and nail files. I also seem to have a problem with hoarding pens and sticky notes; whoever comes to this workspace after me will be sufficiently equipped.

I’ve sent out my final goodbye to the company, told a select few colleagues about this little corner of the web (hi!), and checked off every e-mail in my Follow-up folder. I’ll shut down my laptop, leave it in my empty cube. Then I’ll glance over the gray desk and walls to make sure I didn’t leave anything behind. I will miss my co-workers dearly, but I’m not planning on coming back any time soon.

Onward and upward, friends.

And by “we,” I mean “I.” It’s a week for the royal “we,” uttered in a low, desperate tone wrought by the prospect of a stretch of days so full of work that only having duplicates of myself would alleviate the burden.

Apparently, it’s also a week for being melodramatic. Woe is me.

After a series of conversations following my resignation, my supervisor realized that I do quite a bit of work that would need to be reallocated upon my departure. Even worse, she realized that only I knew how to manage my specific projects, so in addition to the actual work I had slated for this week, I had to add documentation and training for my replacements. It’s funny, though not at all comedic, how all of that extra preparation takes up much more time than actually doing the work.

I’m grateful that this week is my last week at this job. I only have four days left — hooray! Only four days left to write up instructions, train three people on four projects, tie up loose ends so that all of my contacts are transitioned smoothly, and complete forty hours of software testing. I’m on deck for a lot of dinners this week since JG has a heavy volleyball schedule and I volunteered to host a game night at our house, so there is no rest for the weary. It’s the last push until the end, I’m telling myself. Just get through this and then you have a whole, lovely week off.

I can do this. Everything will get finished. We will make it.

I found a new job!

(Yay!)

On October 1, I’ll start as a medical editor at a local hospital, editing articles that researchers and physicians have written for submission to scholarly journals. I’ll also help with ad hoc public relations pieces and website content. I’ll get an ID badge. I’ll have a closet-sized office — with a door! — in a quiet wing of the hospital. I can’t wait.

See, at the end of last week, my life became very confusing. Last Tuesday marked two weeks after my second interview with the hospital, so I followed up with my contact. In her words, I was the “leading candidate” (woo!), but I couldn’t extract what that meant. The feedback and paperwork had to go through her boss and then to HR, so was I still going to get an offer? Or was there more decision-making at hand? I should hear in “one or two days,” she said.

Between that Tuesday and the following Monday, I had an interview at another company, received a job offer there the very next day, and stalled for more time in the hopes that the hospital would get back to me. During this whole job search process, I’ve been straining for even one interview at a time, but I was rather flustered at having two viable options. It’s a bit easier to decide whether one job is the right or wrong decision, but throwing in an alternative and evaluating whether a position is better or worse creates a completely different situation.

Much to my relief, I got a call from the hospital’s HR department with an offer on Monday. I talked it over with JG, made sure I understood the compensation and benefits package, asked some clarifying questions, and notified them of my acceptance yesterday. Upon hearing my decision, the HR contact said, “Oh, they’ll be ecstatic when they hear this!” I couldn’t help but glow a little bit.

After I called to decline my other job offer, I had to inform my manager of my resignation. I thought that I would give my notice with triumph ringing in my voice, but I was startled to find that I was trembling uncomfortably as I delivered the news. “I wanted to let you know that I received a job offer,” I said shakily, “and I’ve accepted it, so I’m giving my notice.” My manager was taken aback and said that it would be a huge loss for the team, which I appreciated. We decided to discuss my transition and communication plans the following day, after HR had been notified.

As I hung up the phone, I was struck with a strange sense of nostalgia for this job, my desk, and the comfortable niche I had carved. It’s odd — even though I’ve had really tough times, it’s my first job. It’s the only one I’ll ever have and I had just quit. I realized that telling my close co-workers the next day that I was leaving would be incredibly difficult. After almost 60 job applications, a handful of interviews, and more than my fair share of tearful workdays, I expected to feel exuberant when I was able to resign. Instead, I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders and a quiet sense of peace. It’s not jubilation, exactly, but I’ll take it.

I’m ready.

I am very homesick.

I have never been homesick in my life. When I went to summer camp for the first time at the age of eight, I waved my parents off nonchalantly before I left with my friend and her parents. When I started fourth grade, my first year at public school instead of my tiny private one, I took a deep breath and stepped up into the school bus, emboldened by my fluorescent gymnastics t-shirt. When I moved in to my first dorm, I guiltily relished the moment when my parents pulled away so that I could start sticky-tacking photos to the cinder block walls. Separation anxiety has never been my thing.

But right now, I wish that I were home with such fervor. My early afternoon flight on Thursday seems so far away and tears prick my eyes at the thought of so many hours until I get to leave.

I’ve had a rough day.

I knew that coming to the staff retreat would be difficult for me, but I can handle difficult. I was unprepared for the strain involved with maintaining an enthusiastic demeanor in the context of utter unhappiness. I didn’t anticipate my team’s total disregard for my work — and my corresponding frustration — and tension from disconcerting interactions with a co-worker. I didn’t expect that, when I talked it out quickly with our HR person, I would burst into tears. I had no idea that I would call JG and haltingly sob that “it was just really hard to be here.” The patchy, tinny sympathy due to a cell phone’s limitations was a mere shadow of the comfort available at home and the disparity between the two was wrenching. I wanted to be able to beam myself back, hug JG fiercely, squeeze his hand, and grit my teeth so that I could face it all again. Instead, I wandered down a sidewalk in the Presidio, clutching my phone, and wiped away my tears with my sleeve. When I see it all in one place, the whole picture is incredibly emotional and borderline pathetic. I don’t savor it.

Toward the end of the day, I realized that this is a prime week for me to be highly emotional and physically fatigued. It’s not an excuse for ridiculous behavior, but it’s a fair consideration because it makes everything more so. Headaches are more severe, emotions run higher (or lower), and tiredness hits harder. I need to breathe more deeply, talk more slowly, and consciously set my mind away from thoughts that I know will cause anguish. The tears are too close to the surface for me to allow myself the luxury of self-pity. I have to tell myself, Not now.

I’m grateful that the company talent contest went off without a hitch and ended the day on a high note for me. It’s as though the event consolidates all that is fun and goofy and lighthearted about the organization and that can never hurt. I’m so ready for bed, but I’m really ready for home.