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Friday, June 22, 2012

Wet Hot American Summer List of Things To Do: Updated


Tell boss I’m quitting—check.  Now to those other 27 things on my to-do list for starting grad school in the fall.  Groansville.  It feels like a lazy summer, it feels like it ought to be a lazy summer.  I just put in my two months notice at a job that’s essentially void of responsibility over my remaining weeks and now I should have weeks of nothing but hijinks and tom-foolery to tackle.  I certainly don’t feel like doing anything else.  But unfortunately, there’s real crap to be done--for grad school anyway--and so much of it.  So in no particular order, here’s the most recent updated version of my “Big List O’ Crap To Do”, in no particular order;

  •  Find a job—still working on that one, but I've been talking to some people who know a lot of people, who know even more people in Columbia, so really, it’s just a matter of time before it all pans out.  I’m assuming that I'll take a job as a super suave and sexy bartender who solves mysteries on the side.  No sweat.
Artist's rendering



  • Register and pick classes—Checkers.  This part involved a lot of phone calls to set up my student account, to set up my e-mail, to set up my graduate account so I could sign up for classes, so easy-peasy stuff.  But I got it now, I think.
  • Getting my moneys—the saga continues.  I know I’m getting a full ride, but it seems like there should be papers to sign, I’s to dot, some weasel waiting to pop out of an innocent-looking box.  I even have my AmeriCorps education award waiting to clean up whatever hidden fees might/ definitely are lurking for me, but ultimately, this seems like something I'm only going to be able to address after receiving a bill.
  • Finding awesome new sunglasses to instantaneously become recognized as the cool kid on campus—Check, double check, discount double check.
  • Buy books for class—kind of check.  I have books for one class so far so I’m stacking that up as a full check.
  • Moving—working on it.  My friend who’s also moving out that-a-ways and I have talked about U-Hauls and stuff… and yes, we've talks about renting a U-Haul.
  • Putting loans in forbearance—to do this, I’ll have to actually talk to Sallie Mae, which might be the most putrid and entirely horrible endeavor that one can ever be subjected to in the world, ever.  I hate even having to look at my loans, let alone paying them or speaking to the loany-type people.  I’d prefer to believe that my loans just don’t exist, so acknowledge them by talking about them—it’s unpleasant.   
Stop taking all my money all the time!

  • Buy a bunch of three-ring notebooks, pencils, and new school clothes--uh, my mom usually does that, so just like when we go out for lunch, I'm just going to leave that check to her.  I think it's a pretty safe assumption.  
  • Enrolling in my new health insurance—working on it; because I have a pre-existing condition I need to make sure my health insurance is continuous so that means getting a letter of continuous coverage, submitting it, getting medical records transferred over, it’s a whole thing, but not as bad as talking to She Who Must Not be Named (Allie-sa, Ae-ma). 
  • Getting good at reading an' writing agains--... working on it. 


The other 17-some things, I'm going to chalk those up as tasks for Future-Me, possibly July-August Future-Me, possibly.  Until then I guess it's on onward trudge to summon the will to actually accomplish something this summer--ah, it's good to have First World problems, yes, yes. 





Friday, June 15, 2012

By the way... I'm quitting


Last Friday after engaging my boss in some jonty back-and-forth about how he might escape his impending jury duty—I suggested body paint—I asked if he had another minute and closed his office door behind me.  He was instantly apprehensive, I suspect fearing that I might be revealing some kind of tawdry office scandal--if only--but I assured him that it wasn't anything bad—for me at least.

Now there's a lady who knows how to do it. 

I told him straight out that I was leaving for grad school and he immediately congratulated me for escaping from the department.  Yay and yikes? 

As it turns out, as irritating-to-wacky that I thought the faculty were based on my limited collegiate experience, my seasoned chair informed me that the department was more along the infuriating-to-psychotic lines.  He was incredibly understanding and empathetic to my plan to further my education and, you know, make something of myself and junk.  He definitely asserted a “you have to do what’s best for you” mentality underscored by a “I knew this was only a steppingstone for you” understanding, and touched off with a “you beat me to the door” aside, quickly followed up by a, “but seriously, you did”


He has allowed me to set my end date and has even agreed to keep it under the radar from our nosy-neighbor faculty until later.  Really good stuff.  So why has it been over a week since I’ve posted this news?  Well funny thing about telling your boss that you’re planning to quit; he expects you do crap before you leave.  Tying up loose ends that I've been content to let dangle, writing-up tutorials for my replacement, he pretty much wants to squeeze the last remaining ounces of productivity from me.  I completely understand it  and am compliant with it, but the truth is that well’s been dry for a while now.

So now I’m trying to eek out the will to complete this employment bucket list, doing my best to fight the urge to throw it all together the day before I leave.  I still have two months—pfff!  What’s the rush.  Yeah…

But on the lighter side of the toast, it feels really good to let him know and have it all out in the open—excluding open to the faculty, student workers, or anyone else at work, of course.  Ah, sweet serenity... 

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.