ON QUITTING.
The world’s most useless advice column tackles asses, doors, and whether the two should meet upon one’s departure.
(*Note: This was originally written on August 4. Forgive me, as I’m migrating all this stuff over from another site…)
QJ: I’m considering resigning from my long-term place of employment. Any tips on how to do it?
Before we get started: Let me be the first of doubtless hundreds of folks to say OH MY GOSH — CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR ESCAPE. And if you work for some Fortune 500 behemoth, feel free to round up on that estimate. More corporate drones fantasize of quitting their job and opening a hygged-to-death, solar-powered combination B&B/ lavender farm than will ever, ever let on.
Also: Of course! Now that I have about a week’s worth of very fresh experience at this, sure to translate to any and all scenarios, I’ve been basically begging for someone to ask me to share. Thank goodness you came along. Consider these your 10 Commandments for Quitting:
Find yourself a hype person. Being nervous is natural. And if you’re anything like me, so is that accompanying bowel-clench and the pitting out of your button-down. But no combination of those will equal the impression you want to impart on your way out the door. In this moment you need someone to remind you that you’re awesome, and that there’s a very good reason why you’re doing this. In my case it was my wife, Heidi, who called me as I paced the back stairwell of the building: “You’ve wanted this for so long, and it’s about time you got it.” If she’d been talking to me between rounds of a championship bout I would’ve gotten back inside that ring and — well, gotten the shit kicked out of me. My jaw is made of pure glass and the only punch I’ve ever thrown was a juice box, at Brian Giddings during my 9th birthday party. But I’m telling you: After that pep-talk, I would’ve looked into the murderous-yet-childlike eyes of Mike Tyson without hesitation or concern. You have a hype person like this somewhere in your life. And there is no better time than now to let them know they need to step the fuck up.
If fate offers you a hand, shake it until it falls off. I went into Outlook to book the come-to-Jesus meeting with my boss, unsure of what to call it (working title: “Very Extended Out of Office”) only to find that he’d already scheduled a half-hour “Catch-Up.” Telling him I was quitting seemed to fall under that theme, so PROBLEM SOLVED. When the meeting began he laid several org charts in front of me, then started his spiel about the team’s five-year plan — and where I fit within it. “These look great,” I said. “I have just one suggestion…”
Be sure to make multiple references to the fact that you’re leaving. Be sure to clarify you don’t mean for lunch. Five minutes after I was almost positive I’d said, “I’ve decided to leave the company,” we’d moved on to talking about the shortcomings of a long-suffering fellow coworker, which somehow transitioned into what makes a good mai tai, then whether Kevin Durant would be able to recover in time for next year’s playoffs. And as I listened to his philosophies on mixed beverages and the super-healing powers of elite athletes, I began to panic that maybe either a) he hadn’t understood what I’d just said, or b) that I hadn’t said the words at all. Maybe I’d chickened out and mumbled something ridiculous like “I’ve decided to leave my hairdresser,” and he was just shrugging it off as the ravings of a sleep-deprived lunatic and moved on. “Just to be clear,” I said, “My last day working here — as an employee — is August 9.” (The as an employee part didn’t sound nearly as dumb in my head as it did aloud. It looks even worse here.) He smiled, nodded and said, “Oh, yeah. I got it. Let me just fix this,” before putting a “NOT” in front of my name on the new org chart.
Try to avoid the word quit if you can. Nobody likes a quitter. Here are some synonyms: Resign. Leave. Depart. Move on. Withdraw. Bow out. Hang it up. Take a walk. Surrender. Any one of which sounds less like you’re throwing a temper tantrum than “I quit” does. I almost said it to our HR rep, watched her left eyebrow arch like it was half of a McDonald’s logo, and pulled myself out of that tailspin. The words “I quit” are just going to result in someone 30,000 feet above your pay grade asking you a lot of questions you really don’t want to answer. At least not yet. Speaking of which:
Now is not the time to mention all the ways your exit could’ve been prevented. I know, I know. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. But simmer down and think about it, because I certainly have. Thanks to the modern misery that is open-floorplan workspaces, my boss and I are forced to sit facing each other, our desks touching, for 8-plus hours a day. At any point during my two weeks’ notice, even with his limited wingspan and brittle lower back, he could easily reach across and strangle me if he wanted. So while I certainly abide by the “what are you going to do at this point, fire me?” philosophy for one’s last 80 business hours in hell, I’m saving myself for the exit interview — and there’s a reason those torchings tend to be scheduled when one of your feet has already crossed the threshold of the fire exit. Which is why when he said, “Well I’m sad for us, but happy for you. It felt like, for the last couple of years, this place had been killing you,” and my tongue nearly leapt out of my mouth to respond, “Then maybe why didn’t you, as my manager, do something to STOP MY PLACE OF WORK FROM KILLING ME,” I instead bit down hard, and nodded, and smiled. Remember: Victory is getting out.
As much as you think they’d be ready for this, you’re going to take HR by surprise. Unless you work for Pizza Hut, your company is unfamiliar with people wanting to leave. This is not the reason they got into HR, and they rarely have to do it. Think about it: One person leaving your department per week would feel like a mass exodus. So maybe HR does one a month. How good is anyone at anything they do once a month? Well, ask yourself—how good am I at hot yoga? In other words, it pays to do your homework. Because HR’s probably not going to do it for you — and even if they did, it might only be C-level work.
You’re gonna wanna talk to the IT Department. This was the biggest tip I got from the HR rep. “Get to the IT bar as soon as you can,” she said. “They need, like, all two weeks of this just to get your phone switched over.” I have as much trust in my company’s IT department as I do in bitcoin and the camera at the top of my laptop screen, but I hustled out of there and down to the line of non-nerds bowing before the uber-nerds as quick as possible. In 2019, the thought of trying to use the bathroom without a functional phone in front of me is one I simply cannot bear.
Keep word of your future plans vague. That way, both your biggest fans AND most insecure haters get the fun of imagining what you’ll be doing a month from now. It’s free entertainment for everyone!
Don’t bite too hard on all the “that’s brave” and “I’m so happy for you” confections. Yes, people are happy for you, and should be. Also yes: They are likely over-romanticizing your next life into something that isn’t just completely unattainable, but dangerously so. A dream job? It’s still a job. And you didn’t beat cancer or stare down a tank armed only with two grocery bags — you just walked away from a bad situation, which is a thing that every person should absolutely do — so brave isn’t really the correct nomenclature here. For your sake, let’s keep your own expectations and perspective in the right place. Unless you followed “I’m leaving the company,” with “To fight poachers away from threatened rhinos in the Serengeti.” In which case, YOU SOAK UP ALL OF THAT PRAISE LIKE YOU’RE THE COMPANION BAGUETTE TO A FIVE-STAR BOUILLABAISSE. I AM SO PROUD OF YOU.
If they want to throw you a going-away party, by all means let ’em. You may be done with the place. But no matter how surly you were before the end, there are people who are going to miss you, and who you are going to miss — whether you’re ready to admit it or not. Accept their invitation with genuine warmth and enthusiasm. You wanted this kind of fuss over you and your work the entire time you were there. You deserve to receive at least a fraction of it, even if it does feel a little late.
Alright: Now stand up, breathe deep, kick your desk chair out into the hall, barge into your boss’s office without knocking, and don’t walk out of there until you’re unemployed.
You’ve totally fucking got this.
Next time: How to say goodbye to literally everyone in your life!
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