Wednesday, March 25, 2015

#102. First of lasts.

Was it a beginning of an end, or an end to the beginning - I am not sure.
First job. It took me 30 minutes to type out my resignation mail. Another 20 minutes to keep switching tabs between work and staring at the mail lying in drafts, waiting for it to decide on it's own when it needed to be sent. I wish the mailbox could take the decision for me and spare me the moment's dilemma. 
First job. I admit that for all the tales I used to hear about corporate jobs and the heroics of quitting and moving on, I had already decided on my exit strategy before joining the first job. That when I'd resign and walk out of the building in style, the place behind me will crumble and crash, in no less than a straight-out-of-Hollywood sequence. And I will hop on to my car, turn around for the one last glance, smile to myself and get going. How dramatic.
Except that today when I started writing the mail, I knew that the only thing I wanted to make sure from that moment on till my last day at work, the only thing I need to ensure is to avoid bursting into awkward tears. 
First job, man.

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