I start a new job tomorrow.

No more computer store.  I’m making the big leap and going from retail to, drum roll… customer service.  From one youthful, hip company to another.  From standing for 8 hours to sitting.  I did my first exit interview.  I was told by many higher ups, “Sorry we didn’t get to know you.”  It was a bittersweet parting.  But, I hear that this computer store is probably going to do okay without me and I know that no one will particularly miss my presence.  Facebook exists for any sentimentality we absolutely feel the need to publicly express.  So in the interview I politely told them I was aware that no one knew me, hence the unfortunate leaving. It’s strange to think that such a loudmouth like myself somehow got lost in the crowd.  I knew that venting wasn’t going to necessarily do any good, but I did it anyway. If I hadn’t, my eyeballs would probably have popped out of my face.  I told them I hoped this experience would not prevent me from working in this company again if, say, the economy goes south and all of America loses all of the jobs, and this massive computer entity store is the only pod left for people to download their paychecks.”  More or less I said that.  I was ensured that my name will not be sullied by this experience.  And if it is, it will be pronounced incorrectly and thought to be said by a different person.

I guess I’m happy that no bridges were burned.  I’ll rephrase.  I’m surprised that no bridges were burned.  Wait… I’ll be surprised if there were actually no bridges burned.

I’m nervous, to say the least.  This Black Friday marked my 2 year anniversary at The Computer Store and I’ll have to introduce new things to my daily routine like wearing different clothes on a day to day basis.  Business casual clothes.  Those words don’t flow well off the tongue since I haven’t had a real business casual job, uh… ever.  Sure, there were a few temp jobs here or there, pretending to be a receptionist who cared about her appearance, but nothing where I’d have to do laundry around it–or god forbid dry cleaning.

So I’ll be the one sitting at her new desk in an ill-fitting, thrift-store button down.  Pitted-out, but optimistic and hopeful that someone will ask me to sit at their lunch table.  I’m glad I’ve successfully ruined any chance at feeling well-rested for tomorrow’s first day at the job by staying up entirely too late writing about my former job.