I can’t imagine you’re terribly surprised by my resignation. As the person to whom I explain every sick and personal day, as well as every careless mistake, you’ve known for a while that things aren’t optimal for me at home. You probably know more about my personal situation than many of my friends, which is kind of weird, when I think about it. Anyway, things are such that the best choice I can see no longer includes this employer, or even this state. I’m going to miss the little lizards here way more than the job.
Let’s neither of us pretend we’re losing a gem, here. You need every hand you can get, I know. Our department has had too much to do and too few to do it since long before I turned up. But you and I both know I’m not much more than that. I’m a pair of hands and the bare minimum of know-how a person can acquire here in a year. I’m not going to beat myself up about it, I’ve been distracted, depressed, and just generally engaged elsewhere for the entirety of my time here, I’ve had good reason but I know that doesn’t make for the best employee. Heck, the girl who was hired after me was kicking my butt in just a couple weeks, aside from being kind of obnoxious she’s worth two or three of me. I hope you hire another one of her, but without the constant humming.
But this job isn’t exactly one to bring a sparkle to the eyes of young college grads, let alone distracted old married women like me. It’s boring, and you can’t even lose yourself in thought properly because you have to look at the clock each time you start an invoice, which is approximately one billion times per business day. And it’s needlessly complicated. You yourself admit that it’s our department’s job to do all the things that please the other departments, and each department likes things a different way so we wind up having to know six different variation on the same darn processes.
Sorry I never learned the name of anyone outside our room, not sorry I alienated those girls across the way who think screaming all day is work appropriate. (Seriously, you must be too nice to speak up because you’re a manager and clamping down on that kind of thing is absolutely in your rights.) You’re welcome for the fact that they now close the door before they commence screaming.
Thank you for not firing me before I was ready to quit. You could have probably made a solid case for it, but you needed a warm body and I needed health insurance.
Frankly, I hope I’m wrong about making this move. I hope this is an overreaction and in six months everyone has a big laugh at my expense for the way I freaked out. But I’m hedging my bets because there’s a lot at stake if I am right.
Though it does chap my a** to be leaving just as I was getting into the swing of things, I’m not going to think about this place much once I’m gone. You seem nice, so don’t feel bad if you do the same.
If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs,