Two Weeks’ Notice
It was mid-morning on a Monday, several Januarys ago, when I walked into the VP of Corporate Services’ office and handed her my letter of resignation, containing my thanks for the joy of working with the company and offering my two weeks’ notice. She seemed genuinely shocked as she should have been. I loved my job and I loved the people with whom I worked. Most of whom I had sourced, interviewed, and hired, including the very Vice President who sat before me reading my resignation letter. She asked if there was anything that would change my mind – she knew there was not. She saw the writing on the wall, as had I. I think she remained less than six months longer.
My Dismissal and Goodbye
I walked back to my office expecting to get right to the current recruitment on my desk – the parameters of which had already been changed a number of times. The VP appeared at my door and said, “I’m sorry Rayanne, but we won’t need you to stay the rest of the day. A box will be brought to you shortly to pack up your things. Fred (that was our CEO) wants you to desist what you are doing and leave the premises.”
Fred had hired me a short year earlier and I loved working for him. He seemed genuine during the course of that year. I later found out he was not - but that is another story. In all, I had brought in fifty-six people into a small tech start-up where only twelve had been the year before. It was an amazing time of company growth, as well as a time of personal growth for me. As I packed my boxes - yes, I need more than one - I remained in a state of sadness and shock. My last paycheck was drawn up and my keys and elevator passes were collected. I made my rounds to say goodbye to everyone. Hugs and tears ensued. And my CEO was conspicuously absent – he had successfully avoided my departure. I deliberately found his wife, she managed the accounting office, and told her how much I had appreciated working for them and to please tell Fred thank you and goodbye.
I was then promptly escorted off the property. I said goodbye to the smokers; they waved cheerfully backed, with cigs dangling from their lips. A chapter had closed. I understood the escalated execution of my exit. I understood the dismissal of my proposed last two weeks - I expected it as my new email address was being set up at my new job. What I didn’t understand was the deliberate avoidance of me. Fred knew that I was beginning to see through him, that I called it like I saw it and though I was leaving, by choice - I was still woman enough to say goodbye and not practice avoidance or delay the inevitable.
When it’s Time to Move On
It’s the whole ripping the bandage off thing. Just do it. The quicker you end it, the quicker you move forward. In essence, I guess that is what was being done. Leave now, Rayanne – don’t prolong the inevitable. But it was still hard to do and even harder to receive. And that is just how it is- probably how it should be. Could it have been done differently? Sure. Could I have stayed the two weeks? Sure. Could I have finished up a couple more recruitments? Sure. But with that eloquently written piece of paper, I had dismissed any rights I thought I possessed. It was time to move on.
With that experience came experience and it has shaped who I am and how I treat the individuals with whom I work. I am passionate about my work – I can’t help it, I think mostly because I have a love-hate relationship with business. I love the business of business and the people it rewards and brings into my life, my heart. But I also hate the business of business and the people it hurts or removes from my life, my heart. An ignorant math teacher once told me, “It is what it is.” But I don’t have to like it – or expect that it will always be that way – at least not under my watch.