How to Break Up with The Best Boss Ever

Step 1: Write the Letter of Resignation.

Keep it short and sweet and to the point. List the things you loved about the place. If you can’t think of any, then LIE. 5 sentences or less.

I write the letter in five minutes flat. Then, rewrite it and agonize over it for an hour. I slam my laptop shut in a fit of fury before pacing around the kitchen for fifteen minutes. I grab the tube of chocolate chip cookie dough from the fridge, cut that sucker in half, knowing I’ll eat both halves before the end of the day, and stomp to my couch. The TV takes forever to turn on-with that passive aggressive rainbow swirling pie. But once it does, I choose a sitcom from my childhood to play in the background as I scroll through posts on social media.

I pause when I see you getting drinks with Lina and Caty. Your big, blue eyes are batting at me with a vindictive grin in your signature, red lipstick. One hand wraps around a bright, green drink. Beside you sits Lina with her matching drink. She’s also wearing one of those stupid, green Leprechaun hats that cost, like, a dollar tops at the store so she won’t get pinched. And then there’s Caty whose right arm is extended to capture the photo. Of course she’s making a kissy face. Fury dissolves quickly into sadness when I see the perfect hashtag.

#BirthdayDinnerWithTheBestBossEver!!!

Mom always said anger is a secondary emotion. The tears come like a flood held back by flimsy, concrete barriers. They cover my face as cookie dough chunks mixed with saliva fly out of my mouth when I curse you and scream and cry and throw my phone across the room like a little kid. I fall onto the couch in defeat. I take a deep breath, splash some cold water onto my face, grab my laptop, and furiously type away at the keys. I check the calendar and choose my final date. 

Step 2: Arrive Fifteen Minutes Early so you can Put the Letter on Your Boss’ Desk Before She Comes In

Resist the urge to ghost your boss. Make sure you have the conversation rehearsed in your brain before you go into that office. Most importantly: DO NOT CRY

I print my letter of resignation at work as a final screw you to you and the company. I place it in a manilla folder which I lay on your desk before running to the women’s room. A gag escapes my mouth, but since I wisely didn’t eat breakfast this morning, nothing comes out. I wash my hands with cold water. I splash my face and pat it dry with a paper towel realizing, only when I look in the mirror, that it has done nothing to stop the blush that has morphed into hives creeping down my neck. “Ugh!” I say to no one, thankful for the empty bathroom. I take three deep breaths. They’re raggedy and forced. The door swings open. 

It’s Caty who shoots a glance at me because this helps her raise her voice to glass shattering octaves before she asks, “Hey, girl, how was your birthday?”

“Good,” I say, trying to keep calm.

“That’s cool. Do anything fun?” she asks. Her snappy questions bounce off tiled walls and land like boxer’s punches on my face-professional and strategically placed.

“Yes, I got to go to Estes with my parents,” I am staring at the face in the mirror, not at the girl who was making kissy lips less than 48 hours ago with my supposed best friend. Supposed. 

“Nice,” she says. 

I can’t resist asking her for information because I want her to say she knew I was going out for a family day which is why they didn’t invite me, “Did you have a good weekend?”

I don’t need her to be my enemy. I don’t need to be the type of woman who tears down other women. I don’t want to be the fool of her story, either. I want…an apology.

Her drawn on eyebrows furrow slightly, “Yeah. You know, drinks with the girls for St. Patty’s.”

No, I think, I do not know. Tell me about drinks with “the girls.” 

“See ya later,” she waves and walks into the first stall of the restroom. I hear the lock click, take another deep breath, and walk out. 

Step 3: Keep Calm When She Asks You to Meet in the Office

So you’ve finally done it. There’s a reason that video games call the final showdown level the Big Boss Level. Just remember to sharpen your tongue and hold your head up high. 

“This is so unexpected, I really don’t know what to say,” you say, dropping the paper on the desk—the one I signed just fifteen minutes ago with a trembling hand. Ironically, with a company embossed pen. I swallow the boulder sitting in my throat thinking, no, no it’s not unexpected. This has been a long time coming. I feel like screaming, but I’m pretty sure I’ve cried all the moisture out of my body. Or at least, that’s what the throbbing migraine I have leads me to believe.

If this was a movie? Well, they’d make the screen fill up with an image of the iris of my eye-pitch black. The audience would watch as we met for coffee on the weekend, breeze in our hair. They’d smile as the next sequence of us on walks to the local park for our lunch breaks where we’d split desserts and gossip the hour away (we’d come back late, but it was ok because I was with you) flashes. They’d laugh with understanding affection at me agonizing on your birthday gift, six months into our relationship. But what would they think of this? What would they think of you and me in your office, no longer co conspirators, but the definition of friends turned foes?

You press your bright, red lips together and then let them part slowly. If this was a movie they’d zoom in real close so that the audience could listen as the lips pulled apart sounding just like velcro. Then, they’d zoom in on me—on the bead of sweat pooling at my temple, my pounding heart beat, maybe they’d show the blush creeping onto my cheeks like ivy.

I clear my throat and you look up, almost like you forgot that I was here. This time, I press my lips together. In contrast to yours, mine are dry, cracked, and painful. Your office feels so silent and out of discomfort I look to the window on my right where soft, gray clouds are battling the Colorado sun for attention. If this was a movie, they’d zoom to a shot outside—to the colorful cars lined like a little boy’s creation in the parking lot, to the trucks zooming down the freeway, to the black bird nibbling a fry out of the trashcan by the smoker’s pole. 

“Is there anything we can do to keep you?” you breathe the question out and for a second I see the woman who interviewed me…

Eighteen months ago, I put on my very best little black dress, the one with the lace capped sleeves. I also brushed my cropped hair behind a polka dot headband and slipped into a pair of classic, black stilettos. I parked in the visitor spot. The one right in front of that window which led out to your office. Little did I know. 

I arrived ten minutes early so as to be early, but not too early. The receptionist, a sweet elderly woman with red glasses, sat behind her huge, wooden desk with black marble countertops. She was on the phone when I entered and gave me a smile, a slight wave. I felt like a child being called into the principal’s. But when she set down the phone all of that changed.

“Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart! How can I help you?” her voice was like southern sweet tea. I quickly stood and introduced myself. “We’re so excited to meet, ya! Come on back!” she exclaimed and stood in one smooth motion. She led me through the door, waving to the payroll department and then the HR department before turning me down a hallway to the conference room. It had the standard large, oak table with a handful of black seats with wheels on them. “See ya before you leave, sweetheart,” she said with a smile. 

I was left to memorize the posters of the properties managed by Greywolf Properties LLC. Smiling men and women dressed in smart suits hid behind glass, frozen in time for just that one moment, when the red ribbon was cut on the largest apartment complex in the city. I imagined myself with that team, smiling, frozen forever behind a pane of glass for some new recruit to see in ten years time. That’s when I grew excited.

The door caught on the frame when you tried to come in, startling me. You walked in. Do you remember the dress you were wearing? The cherry red one with heels that matched mine? Your hair, long, blonde, and stringy, seemed out of character for you, like you were a doll whose owner just loved combing out the tangles. You took a seat across from me and held out your hand with red claws. I wondered if they were red from the polish or something more sinister. The thought made me less nervous.

I presented my resume, cover letter, and a letter of recommendation from a previous employer. All of the usual questions were asked and answered. I even posed some of my own that I stole from a video I watched online titled, “How to Nail Your Next Interview”.

You led me out of the conference room. The receptionist gave me a wink with her thick, false lashes. I penned my letter of resignation at the retail outlet I was working at the second you gave me the phone call saying I got the job…

How do we get back to those girls, I wonder. How do I go back to being hopeful that this place is my forever home? I shake my head, clearing those thoughts, “No, no. I don’t believe it’s ever ethical to use a letter of resignation as a negotiation tactic.” You press your lips together again and I smell your perfume. You chose something strong, something flowery. I don’t recognize it and instead of bidding for your affection by gushing out compliments I ask, “Are you OK with April 7th being my last day?”

“I mean, that’s what you wrote. That’s what you chose,” your blue eyes narrow.

“Yes, that’s what I wrote,” I say. What I don’t say is, but if you asked me to stay a little bit longer, I would. I would, for you. What I don’t say is that this letter is a negotiation tactic. Negative thoughts begin to circle my head the way cartoon birds do when someone gets knocked out: Why didn’t you invite me to drinks? The birthday girl who took you to drink for your birthday? You knew. You knew. And you didn’t invite me.

You heave a sigh because I am the petulant child, forever ungrateful. 

Step 4: Let Her Dismiss You And Don’t You Dare Cry

This is the hardest part of the break up. It’s the moment you know the company is truly done with you. And all those tears, all that sweat will dissipate. Crack your back as you stand just one inch taller.

You wave a polished hand and I look over my shoulder to see the mug I gave you for your birthday—the one full of mini chocolate bars because you always have reason for a sugar break. In bright, red letters reads: BEST BOSS EVER…

You smiled so big when I handed you the glittery pink bag across the table at the local burger bar. We’d split a basket of fries. You nursed two beers. I toyed with the clear straw bobbing in my Cola. You said, “You didn’t have to!” And shot me a devilish grin, “But I am so glad you did!” I nodded like a child who has finally won over her mother. 

“It’s not much, but…” I trailed off and watched the mug come out of the bag first. You set it down and laughed when a few candy bars cascaded out. You took out the card, all pink with my signature wax seal. It was a hobby picked up from my grandfather, remember how I confided that detail when you cooed at it? You ran that one, long, index nail along the border of the card and set the envelope to the side. I watched your beautiful eyes read the card. They crinkled so perfectly with another smile. My arms stretched out to embrace you.

“Oh! I’m gonna save this!” you said while trying to tear my seal from the card, keeping it intact throughout. “I just love it so much!”

“I’m so glad. Your friendship has meant a lot in these last six months,” I said feeling bashful.

“Well, let me tell you, I promise you have it,” you reached across from another hug. I asked the waitress for another basket of fries. She gave you a free slice of cheesecake for your birthday. I still have the photo of you blowing out the little pink candle…

I reach to close the door but you correct me and I walk back to my desk, passing Lina and Caty who give me big smiles. Then, like robots being commanded with a flick of a switch, they stand and walk towards your office. Caty closes the door softly. But it sounds so damn loud I could scream. I could just…scream. 

Step 5: Start Your New Job With a Clean Slate

It may feel impossible, but the rest of your life is just around the corner. Who knows? Maybe this next place will be the one that you stay at forever.

It’s raining on my first day and that makes me smile. I clutch my thank you card, complete with a wax seal, for my new manager. I’ve never worked for a doctor before, but it makes me giddy. The air smells clean—perfect weather for a fresh start.