By Anna Gonzales |Staff Writer|
With one piece of paper, on a bright and sunny Wednesday, I prepared my thoughts, as I would bring my dreadful career to an end.
The day came where I could finally quit working at the one place I hated most in the world: Jimithee Hill’s Pizzeria.
Thoughts of how I wanted to respectfully establish my resignation of my position flowed through my brain.
After some deliberation, words appeared on my laptop screen.
As much as I thought this would be a simple process, it was much more difficult than I anticipated.
“Dear John Smith,” became the opening of my letter.
With those three words came many recollections of the mistreatment towards my coworkers and myself.
Moments of seemingly deliberate mismanagement flashed through my mind as I pushed my laptop away to reflect.
Memories of times where I was made to be a fool in front of customers because of foolish and selfish rules implemented by the owners drowned my brain.
“Go tell that family they need to stop their kids from running around the game room,” said Sandy.
“I’m sure the family wouldn’t be happy that I am telling them how to control their kids. Besides, wouldn’t it seem more professional if a manager told them?” I replied
“Just go tell them,” said Sandy.
Embarrassment quickly filled my body as I walked away from the table with blushing cheeks.
The parents were not the only ones who left feeling offended, as I was the one who was forced to tell them.
After brushing the less-than-wonderful thoughts away, I continued with my letter.
“I am writing you to inform you that I will be resigning from my position…,” flushed across my screen.
Again, another pause came, stopping me from continuing with my letter.
A certain memory came to mind where I was consistently micromanaged.
A high pitched ring sounded across the bustling and loud restaurant as the phone rang with no answer.
A very angered owner came charging from the kitchen to the front registers, rudely interrupting me as I politely took a customer’s order.
“Why haven’t you answered the phone? It has been ringing off the hook,” said John.
My immediate response followed with a point in the direction of the bustling restaurant to display my reason for not answering the phone at the first ring.
An appeased John smiled toward me after the phone was answered.
Blood boiled in my body when I found out shortly after that John was in his office Face Timing for personal use, rather than swiftly answering the phone when I was unable to.
“I greatly appreciate the experiences I have had throughout the course of my employment,” I typed.
Another pause stopped me in my tracks.
“You are not cleaning the tables correctly. You have to wipe under the napkin holders and not just the table top,” said Sandy.
Eye rolls and snarky attitude followed Sandy’s lecture concerning proper table-wiping etiquette.
Thoughts of anger and confusion infiltrated my mind as I tried to understand how I could be lectured by someone whose highest level of education was high school about a simple task of cleaning a table.
Leading me to ponder whether or not I enjoyed my experiences at Jimithee Hill’s with John and Sandy.
“I appreciate the opportunities Jimithee Hill’s has presented me throughout the past year,” I continued.
“Hey, did you get a raise today too? They bumped me up fifty cents,” said a co-worker, Rudy.
Immediate anger settled in when I realized that a male co-worker, who was in the same position as me, received a raise and I did not.
It was even more infuriating to find out he had always remained one dollar ahead of me in pay, and I was not able to speak about it because information about wages was to remain confidential.
Without hesitation, I swiftly booted myself towards the office to give Sandy a piece of my mind.
“Hey Anna, what’s up?” said Sandy.
“Something is really bothering me,” I replied.
The loud ring of the phone pierced my ears and cut me off immediately after I began to speak up.
“Answer that please,” said Sandy.
“Thank you for calling Jimithee Hill’s Pizzeria. This is Anna, how may I help you?” I answered.
With that, I never spoke about it again.
As I finished the letter, I felt excitement and relief fill my mind because I knew I was finally leaving a place that never truly appreciated me.
The clicking and swishing noises singing from the printer registered as music to my ears.
A large grin covered my face as I looked at the letter.
Never have I been so ecstatic to sign my name on a piece of paper before.
With a simple swipe of my pen, “Anna Gonzales” appeared.
Nerves filled my body as I drove to work, eager to hand over my letter.
A blast of cool air from my air conditioner and calming, car radio music alleviated my nerves before I walked into work.
The ding of the bell rang as I opened the front door to Jimithee Hill’s.
“Welcome to your shift, Anna. I have a list of things I’d like you to get one immediately,” said Sandy before I clocked in.
The dreading feeling of completing the minute tasks became a reminder of why I was making my escape from that place.
“Actually, I’d like to hand you my resignation letter,” I replied.
She stood there stunned.
The look on her face can be compared to that as if I told her she was not a human being: confused, offended, and disgusted.
“You’re not happy here? Why didn’t you tell me?” said Sandy.
The all too familiar ear-piercing chirp rang into my ears.
“I should probably get that,” I said as a Grinch-like grin plastered on my face.
With that, my heart grew two sizes smaller as the pent up anger released from my body.