Jobs

I quit a job last week. Pretty sure I know what you’re thinking. How could I quit a job when I was the only one working?! After 2 months of unemployment? I got a job, barely gave it a chance, and quit.

The good news is I got another job, which is why I quit the first job. 

Have you ever worked at a place that made you sad just to go inside? I’m not even sure I can properly explain the way it made me feel to go to work, or plan to go to work, or get ready for work, or think about going to work. 

It wasn’t the job itself—everything they asked me to do I was willing to do, and I did it. I worked hard. Tuesday I was stocking and facing shelves. Nothing I haven’t done before. It’s not like I felt like the job was beneath me—when your family is struggling to make ends meet you’d be surprised what you’re willing to do. I guess I’d have to put it down to the atmosphere. I knew when I took the job that it was wrong for me. One might argue, if I knew that, why did I take the job in the first place? I didn’t have to accept it. Again, family needs, dire straits, no job for over 2 months. 

I kept my ear out, my applications moving. I looked into every alternative I had, and one quickly presented itself. When I got that job (the second one), I was so relieved tears came to my eyes. I’m not even exaggerating. 

Sometimes you have to go through a situation in order to learn how deeply you feel about it—for good or bad. I had no idea I was so deeply opposed to working for this company until I accepted a job from them. Are they evil? No. Are they bad? Not that I found. I just knew with every fiber of my being that the job was wrong for me. I wish I understood why, exactly. I’m still trying to work it all out in my head.