The Quitter

“You know what? I quit!”

I pushed my desk chair back, letting it roll until it hit the back of my cubicle wall, and stared at my keyboard blankly.

Around me, not a single person reacted. They didn’t even look up. Jerks.

Although, to be fair, I quit about five or six times a day – every day.

The first few times, there were exclamations of disbelief and concern. My boss called me into her own (bigger) cubicle to have a discussion. Although, she is not a people person, so it was mostly a demeaning experience that did not convince me of my longevity in this position.

The panic of her boss, though, was real. There are only three people in the world who can do what I do. The CEO was very aware of that fact, even if my supervisor didn’t seem to grasp the reality.

I was taken to lunch. Given a bonus. A few days off. I’m sure my coworkers believed that was the reason I kept doing it, but the reality is – I really, really want to quit. I didn’t say it to get free lunches or more money. I said it because I am so incredibly done with it all.

I had a coworker once, Mike, who was working on his second retirement. He already got a retirement check and his wife worked as well. One day, he walked in and announced he was quitting. And you know what? He did. He sold everything he owned except for his motorcycle and he moved to a different country!

I think about him often. At what point in life do you gain the confidence – or stupidity – to just quit a job and uproot everything? How do I get there?

I look at the faces around me again and frown. I have no connection here. I could go be a circus performer and no one would care. As I sit and contemplate, a message comes across my desktop from my boss. She’s decided I don’t need to have next Friday off for my doctor’s appointment.

“I quit,” I say. “I quit, I quit, I quit.” Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll have the courage to actually do it.

One of the coworkers actually looks up at my mini tirade and lifts an eyebrow.

I could be a spy. Or, more likely, a Walmart greeter.

As a single mother, these are not viable options.

My office building is one of those multi-storied behemoths with crappy parking options. As I trudge from the air-conditioned goodness into wet heat and make my way to my car – over 1000 steps away – I think of Mike again. Is it sad that the only reason I still think of a long-gone colleague is because of how he left fifteen years ago? Or is it sadder that I think of him more often than I think of coworkers I currently live with?

The children are already home when I get there. Teenagers, not quite children anymore. One will graduate in six months, the other next year. I walk in to a mess. Someone cooked dinner but left the chaos they had created uncleaned. I could hear music somewhere and stomping upstairs.

As I set my purse down and look at the food remains on the counter, dripping onto the floor, and a sink full of dishes, I mutter “I quit”. I grab a bottle of tea and fall into my recliner – and just stare at the blank TV.

I love my kids. And believe it or not, I love my actual job. It’s the tiny aggravations that get to me. A micromanaging boss. The inability to move up further. A messy house after a 10-hour day. Choir recitals. Graduation pictures to arrange.

Somewhere, I hear my cellphone twing. With a sigh, I drag myself up and back to the counter where I left my purse. As I dig through it, I hear another beep. And another.

“Sheesh! I’m coming!” I finally find it buried at the bottom. I take a swig of tea as I unlock it and open the first email that came through. It looks like a series from the same company, one I’ve never heard of. Watkins and Ellison?

The email said I had a certified letter en route, that I should read it carefully and return a signed and notarized copy back to the office as soon as possible.

“Psh. Scam.” I looked at the other two emails. One was titled “Document Instructions”. The other was titled “Tracking Information.”

Well, they were thorough, these scammers. I locked the phone and went upstairs so I could start the same routine over in the morning.

The next day, I quit eight times. A new record. Around three I saw the office busybody heading my way. Two men in short-sleeved dress shirts and work slacks followed her, one with glasses.

“Did you hear?” Wendy-the-nose asked.

I sighed and looked up at her expectantly.

“Remember Janie Miller?”

“Oh yeah, Janie.” Janie had worked with us until about two years ago. Single and in the same office for thirty years, she had walked in and handed in her two weeks notice. It seemed her favorite uncle had passed away with no children and given her millions of dollars, so she had decided to retire on the money. She’d moved to North Carolina and we’d never heard from her again. But I had fond memories of the woman.

“She’s dead.” Wendy leaned over my cubicle wall.

I blinked in shock. “What?”

A light gleamed in Wendy’s eyes – the light of knowing something before someone else knows it. “A month or so ago.”

“Ma’am, please!” The man with glasses held out a hand and stepped in front of Wendy. He turned to me.

“I had hoped to tell you in a gentle way, Ms. Lark, considering your relationship with Ms. Miller.”

“My…relationship?” I blinked again

“Yes, ma’am. We have the letter she left you. Did you get the paperwork?”

“Paperwork?” My mind wouldn’t allow me to form full sentences.

He sighed and looked at his partner. This man – balding, but with a hint of a smile on his face – also stepped in front of Wendy, effectively shutting her off from me.

“Ma’am, we sent you a packet certified mail. We had hoped you’d retrieved it by now, but Ms. Miller had stipulated we contact you in person once she was gone.”

The man held out a letter-sized envelope. I stared at it in confusion for several heartbeats before I finally took it.

He nodded at me encouragingly and then Glasses started talking again. “Ma’am, Ms. Miller died without issue. She gave several hundred thousand to a pet rescue in North Carolina. The rest…she gave to you.”

I looked up quickly. “What? But…”

Both men shook my hand, turned, and walked away, leaving a wide-eyed Wendy before me. There was a pregnant pause as we stared at each other before she lurched away. I had no doubt what she was up to.

I sank back into my chair and opened the envelope. Inside was plain notebook paper. It was written in Janie’s decisive, no-nonsense hand.

Sarah,

I know we only knew each other for a couple of years, but I want you to know how much I valued your friendly face and sense of humor. Throughout our time working together, I was amazed at how you held it all together – single parenting, night school, mortgage. My uncle said in his goodbye letter he was glad to give me his fortune because I had worked hard all my life and deserved it.

Sarah: I am glad to give you my fortune because you’ve worked hard all your life. And you deserve it. It’s time to take care of yourself.

The paper twitched as tears plopped on the words. I looked up with the biggest smile I’ve ever had and noticed my boss had come up at some point and stood in front of me.

“You know what?” I asked, my smile getting even bigger. “I quit.”