After this week, no more will I have to burn forty-odd bucks worth of petrol each week, just getting to work and back; no more will I be expected to pick up after other people's kids, or shelf-check (that's making sure every single book is in Dewey order) the messiest of shelves in the children's library; no more will I have to be nice to the grumpy Maori woman who demands much but never thanks me (and who keeps on walking out even when she sets off the security gate alarm); no more will I need to find family sagas for all the old ladies at the old folks' home; no more will I have to pretend that I'm interested in encouraging kids to read (if they wanna read, let 'em - if they don't, I don't care).
Sure, I'll miss some of my workmates; I'll miss the patrons who are genuinely nice and grateful for my assistance; I'll miss earning enough to enable me to buy new clothes occasionally.
But if they make me do a speech at morning-tea, I'm not going to pretend that I'll be sad to go. Oh, no.
4 comments:
have you considdered nicking something from around the job like a stapeler as a souvenier?
That's an idea...
But I work for a city council. Fat chance of coming across any really worth scoring...
Oh, those uncomfortable farewell rituals. It's so hard to curb the enthusiasm sometimes, and not look respectfully weepy.
I've worked places where even if you explicitly ask for no going-away party, you get one. Makes me wonder how one can avoid it, short of dying (or faking it).
At this place, a farewell morning tea or dinner is on their checklist for staff resignations!
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