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Friday, June 1, 2012

Locked and Loaded

I am beginning to feel pretty shady.  Yes, as I sit at work typing on my office computer still without having told anyone (who I need to) about my impending August departure, the shadiness is strong with me.

Summer at a university is, for the most part, head-hammeringly slow.  There are a few projects to work on—one of those for me being organizing my files and crap to hand off in my transition—but for the most part it’s me, our administrative assistant, and the department chair twiddling our thumbs.  And every time the fall semester comes up and I preface my response with “my position should be responsible for this”, or “this position can definitely do that”, I feel disgenuous.  I feel pretty shady.


I need to drop the grad school bomb.


But I’ve never quit a job before—not one that I didn't have to leave because I was going home for the summer or to school in the fall anyway—and I’m not sure how to do it or how it might go.  Here are a few hypothetical possibilities;

Scenario A:


Me:  Hey, boss.


Boss:  Hey, employee.


(I gently close the door behind me)


Me: Can we talk?


Boss:  Sure, my door is always open, except for now since you just closed it.


(We share a laugh)


Me:  Great, great.  Well, I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now and wasn’t sure when might be the best time—


Boss:  --Go ahead, employee.


Me: Okay, well boss, I wanted to let you know that I’ve been accepted into grad school and I’m leaving in August.  It’s nothing against you or the department, it’s just an amazing opportunity that I’ve been working toward for a long time.  I’ve been organizing my files and duties so they can be easily transitioned on to my replacement.  I’ll be here ready to do whatever needs to be done until August.  Most importantly, I want to make sure that I didn’t leave you and the department in the lurch.  I hope you can understand.


(Boss calmly stands up and throws his chair though my face.)

You should see what he does when I miss a lay-up



Scenario B:


Me:  Boss, I got something I need to tell you!


Boss:  Whoa employee, what’s going on?  This isn’t like you!


Me:  Cram it Dr. Who Gives a Crap!  I’m talking now!


(Boss, a.k.a. Dr. Who Gives a Crap, cowers behind his fine oak desk)


Me:  Yeah, I’m talking now.  Listen, I’m out of this trash can!  You’re all like Losertown and I’m all Scramsville, baby! 


Boss:  Oh my stars!


Me:  that’s right, I’m tired of taking this crap, and even if I wasn’t going to grad school, which I am ‘cause I’m smart—surprised much?—I’d still be getting the hell out of here!  Peace out Girl Scout!


(Boss calmly stands up and throws a chair through my face)



The other scenarios are really just alterations of these first two with different things being thrown through my face—a stapler, an autographed textbook, a harpoon, etc.  I guess in reality, my approach should be akin to Scenario A and my boss’ response will probably be more reasonable than throwing a harpoon through my face.


Scenario G

Where as my original fear was being terminated prematurely, I’m now confident that won’t happen.  I’m more concerned with the added pressure of getting things in order to transition out of my position, thus, destroying my Summer of Slothfulness—wow, I guess it’s me who’s all like Loserville right now.


In any event, the bomb drops Monday, so says Scramsville. 

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