Gaudy Patter

He came out from behind his desk and sat in the chair opposite mine where we had our longest conversation in over a year. It was an excellent opportunity to talk about my problems with the way things had gone, and where they were headed.

I spent the better part of the weekend anticipating this conversation. Part of me believed that there was little point in addressing the specifics of my reasons for leaving. I had little confidence that I'd be taken seriously, but that can be chalked up to the "eh, what do I know?" mindset I've cultivated after years spent watching MBAs turn fine ideas into smoking craters.

I've never seen the man listen so well. I spoke passionately about what I perceived as missed opportunities and bad decisions, surprised to find him agreeing with me on occasion.

All in all, there were only a few points with which he substantively disagreed, which only reinforced the notion that I was on the right track with my decision to leave. He asked me whether I was certain that I wanted to leave, or if I was prepared to stick around and try to turn things around, working in an elevated role that had much more responsibility and (perhaps) slightly more compensation.

I told him I appreciated the offer, but that I didn't feel that there was anything I could do to ameliorate the situation. I noted that I no longer enjoyed my work, and that I didn't want to bring that kind of negative energy into the office -- I think it's infectious. I know myself too well, and I have a high regard for my co-workers.

Rolling into the office each morning at 10:45, feeling sulky and inattentive before I even get to my desk? That's not good. My job was starting to take on aspects of Family Circle Syndrome.*

He called me from the car after he'd left for the day, asking if we could continue talking over the next few days about how things might change. He sounded a little hurt, but the man's brilliant at pushing your buttons. I have the feeling he would have been glacial if he'd felt it would serve him. I gave him a "we'd see," but that I hadn't made the decision lightly, and I was 95% sure that it was time for me to move on.

I don't trust executives, and neither should you. The last time someone equivalent to me on the food chain got the bright idea to depart, those of us who knew were counseled not to breathe a word to others so a veep could break the news to the rest of the crew. I thought that was the height of bullshit. What difference could it possibly make to the rest of the office? They'd have found out sooner rather than later.

I talked to four colleagues with whom I work the most closely. We're part of the small core group who comprised the first few hires. I think I was the eighth person hired. I let them know that I gave notice today.

- P was not surprised, but a little rueful. "You bastard," I believe she said.

- M was a little surprised, but not at all shocked.

- E was as surprised as I've ever seen him -- his eyebrows arched. He's one cool character, very Even Steven.

- B was surprised, and a little hurt maybe. "Don't think me disloyal," I said, trying to break the tension. He wouldn't even look at me for a minute.

Will I even need to reinforce the concept of a me-free office tomorrow? Something tells me that they'll do most of the work for me; execs huddled in their glass-walled offices (with the doors closed for privacy!), co-workers, sitting in four-person pods and gossiping via IM. I expect to get a few emails with subject lines like, "for real?" or a couple of casual walk-bys from colleagues who want to take me lunch, or get a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

Eventually, clients will get wind of this, and some will doubtlessly whip themselves up into a frenzy creating myriad narratives for my departure, each more baroque than the next:

"I hear he's got six months to live."

"Nervous breakdown. His hands shake like a junky's. Kid's got no heart for the game anymore."

"He quit because he's in solidarity with those former customers who broke their contracts! He just can't say so, because the suits have him all wrapped up -- but we know better, man!"

Well, bullshit on all of you.

I'm leaving because I want to write, and I want a better life.

I don't want to dread Monday mornings, and I want to get out of bed each day and be excited about something.

I want to use talent and skill -- instead of patience and endurance -- to make my living.

I'm leaving because if I got hit by a bus on my way home from a job I don't like, it will all have been in vain.

* "And it's always there, in the lower right hand corner, just waiting to suck." From "Go," written by John August.