Quitting my job has been very anti-climactic. Two weeks ago, I asked for the Labor Day weekend off (Saturday-Monday) to go to a "family reunion in Idaho" and didn't expect to receive the days off. My plan was to come in and pick up my schedule last Tuesday, notice that I was scheduled to work over the weekend, tell them that I had specifically asked for it off and then quit. Because, hello! It's a family reunion! In Idaho! A 7-hour drive!
(Un)fortunately, and quite surprisingly, they scheduled around my shindig. So today is my last day. Since K-12 classes started on Tuesday, our town theatre has reduced the hours of operation and now opens at 3.30p instead of 11.30a. I'll be working by myself for three hours and then will turn in my stuff. Maybe I should shout "I QUIT!" really loudly before I leave and throw my things on the desk. Or, better yet, use a line from Half Baked, turn to my coworkers and point and yell "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, and fuck you, I'm out!"
Eh. We'll see.
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