Two Weeks Notice - Part One

Sunday September 9:

I turned in my two weeks notice on Friday. I should’ve starting writing this then, but good ideas never come to me on time. For breakfast today, I had a piece of toast, one egg, and a bowl of vanilla ice cream, just to make sure the day went down smoothly. It did. I had a great time at work. I made nine sales. I was supposed to make fourteen. A lead asked me if the channels I was offering her had any children’s programming. I told her that “Sexy Suspects,” “Sex on the Run,” and “Thrust from the Hip” were being shown today. I didn’t get the sale.

For the last three weeks I had been monitored, meaning that malicious people listen in to all the calls I make to see if I screw them up. Stress accumulated inside of me like fat. I was always worried about fuckle-ing up and then being fired. “How will I be able to pay for tuition?” was all I could think about. I gained five pounds. Two weeks ago, when the semester started and I had to leave to go to school at 7:30 AM and didn’t get home till my shift was over and my commute commuted at 11:10 PM, I stopped meeting my sales quota. Too much pressure. Not enough sleep. And I was being monitored, so I couldn’t cheat like everyone else. So I decided to quit. I may not be able to pay my bills, but I just might be able to enjoy life. I’m waiting to see if that’s worth it.

“I’m a student, not a worker” I repeat to myself. I hope that my inner voice will eventually sound convincing. Exactly two hours after I turn in my two week’s notice a supervisor comes up to me and tells me I’ve been selected to start the new BBC campaign. That’s why they were monitoring me. They didn’t want to fire me. They wanted to transfer me to a better position. Good things never come to me on time.