So we moved to the new office building last Friday. The new office is very nice; the floors are shiny, the walls are not marked up, everything has that new-car smell (which probably means I’m inhaling all sorts of off-gassed chemicals, yay!). It took me seven fewer minutes to drive to this office this morning, hooray!

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was actually feeling a bit sad about leaving the old building. Not devastatingly sad, of course; I just felt a little twinge. I’ve worked in that building for twelve years, after all, so I’ve probably spent more time there than in any other building in my lifetime. Okay, now I am devastatingly sad. Twelve years. At a job that I never particularly wanted in the first place. And that I cannot – despite my desires to do something else, anything else – justify leaving. I’ve applied for two different jobs in the past 18 months, both of which I was eminently qualified for. Both places loved me! Loved my resume! And told me they couldn’t afford me. That’s the downside of seniority, obviously; and it’s scary to realize that I earn what I do not necessarily because my work is worth that much, but because I’ve just been here forever. And it’s that, combined with my five weeks of vacation and my vested pension and the prospect of guaranteed healthcare for life if I work here for only eight more years, that keeps me from trying very hard to leave.


Anyway. To add to my feelings of nostalgia on Friday afternoon, Chris called with the sad news that our favorite restaurant had closed down. We’ve been going to the Armadillo Grill for tacos since we started dating, way back in 1995. First we frequented the ‘Dillo in Chapel Hill; then we moved to Durham and found a ‘Dillo on the Duke campus. Then we moved to Wake Forest and had to travel a bit, to downtown Raleigh, for our ‘Dillo fix, until the joyous day that a ‘Dillo opened up about five minutes from our house. (And honestly, we never really called it the ‘Dillo. Because that would be ‘annoying.) But our local one closed down; obviously people in Wake Forest don’t appreciate the wonder of the chicken taco, or the Texas-sized chips and queso. After lamenting for a few minutes, Chris said, “You know, sometimes the food wasn’t all that great,” and I agreed, but that’s not the point, is it? The point is, it was a constant, a Friday-night staple, and now it’s over, because with the price of gas, there’s no way we’re going to drive out to Raleigh for take-out Tex-Mex.


Ungraceful segue into this story: Mallory has a boyfriend named Joey, about whom she talks constantly. I don’t know if Joey knows he is her boyfriend or not, or the extent of her involvement with him, and I don’t really care to know, and in fact, you can frequently hear Chris or I saying, “Mallory, that’s enough talking about your boyfriend.” Friday night she said, “Mommy, I’m kind of sad because my boyfriend went on a trip this weekend and I miss him.” I said, “Hmm.” She said, “He’s going fishing on a boat.” I said, “Hmm.” She said, “But I guess I’ll see him in school next week.” I didn’t reply. Then she added, “Unless he falls off the boat!”

Wouldn’t wish for poor Joey to fall off the boat, of course. Would like for the boyfriend talk to come to an end, somehow, someday soon.


aimee said...

Good post about endings. It would be hard to leave a job where you have those benefits.

Anonymous said...

I guess I never realized what good benefits you have at your job. Eight years isn't that long!