(Content warning - Strong Language)
Look up those stories,
especially the fun ones,
where people quit their jobs
with a "kiss my ass" to the boss
or a dance routine,
middle fingers up in the air
as they prance right out the door.
Usually some inciting experience,
a sleazy boss coping a feel
or a co-worker screaming over
why didn't you replace the fucking coffee filter,
sets off the invisible fuse
of the time bomb that is in
a directionless weekend warrior.
Mine wasn't like that.
I wonder about those people for being
like a cannonball,
explosive and loud
leaving an immediate impact
before flying away across the horizon.
I was more like a statue by the sea,
the waves and storms
swirling by, often crashing over my head
while chips of stone erode away
little by little
until one day they viewed the shore and
oh yeah, it's been that long? He was slipping away.
It went like this.
The papers in my desk
are a bit of a mess,
typical of any day.
But this wasn't a typical day
and a mole hill was a mountain.
Mandatory training was painstaking,
typical of usual training.
But this wasn't typical training,
and I could almost see
the potential of life wither away.
An irate coworker
is just part of the job sometimes,
typical obstacle to the weekly grind.
But this wasn't a typical obstacle,
and their problem seemed
insignificant as I tasted bile.
Did you know we spend more
of our awake time with our co-workers
than our own friends or family?
I whispered to my stapler,
a memory from some nonsensical
training on respecting co-workers
who could give two shits about me or you.
Am I the only one who sees how
completely disturbing that is?
What the fuck are you doing then?
asked the stapler.
Well, it had me there.
So, I put in my two weeks,
grit my teeth,
and walked out the door
with no fanfare but the smile on my face.
I wasted enough time waiting.
I don't know where I'm going,
I don't know where I'll be.
But it won't be a typical destination.