June 17th 2016
Today I gave my boss my verbal two weeks notice. I’m finally getting out. I’ve accepted a job offer and I start at the beginning of July. Exciting!
I began to tell my colleagues and co-workers, too. I think they’re more pleased that I’m finally getting out than sad to see me go, which is the reaction I’d hope for. I’ve been there (waiter, restaurant) 6 years, you see. It was my first job out of school, and then it kind of just carried on being my job, and hey, I’m 22, with a degree, and still there. But not for long!
Only one person who still works there was an employee when I started. (Although she was on maternity leave for 4 years, so I still claim the “longest serving” title) she said today how she remembers when I started, how I was just a little kid. And that’s so true.
I’ve complained about that place a lot on this blog, but that’s mainly because my rants about arsey customers are usually entertaining (to both read, and write). Really, it’s not been that bad. It’s served me well (pun intended) over the years. And I’ve grown up with it. I’ve learnt life skills, I’ve learnt to speak to people, to pretend, to cater, to care. It’s helped with my fear of looking like a twat in front of strangers, because it’s fine to look like a twat in front of strangers if you’re getting paid for it.
I won’t say I’ll miss it, but I’ll think of it as a job that I was good at, and one I even enjoyed at times. I could basically pick and choose my hours, I earned good money, I met nice people (both colleagues and customers), and I felt valued because my experience and knowledge made me one of the most important team members (TBH IMO)
That being said, I can’t wait to start my new job. A proper job, finally.
Until tomorrow, roll on July.