I had been wanting to quit my
job for the past year and a half, but the
timing was never right. But fortunately, that is no longer an issue. My
boss was fired last week, and it seems likely that everyone on her team
will be fired as well, leaving me, her assistant, or as she referred to
me “The person she was forced to hire,” jobless.
I know God hears me when I pray,
and I was trusting Him to show me what to do next. But in the meantime,
I put on my favorite black Prada skirt and pumps, black cashmere
sweater, and the floral print Hermes scarf my generous but scathing
boss gave me for my last birthday, and grabbed my most recent Christmas
gift from her, a black leather YSL Muse handbag. I figured mourning
attire would be appropriate, since I was on my way to the funeral
service for my dead career. I took one last look in the mirror, picked
up my keys, and walked out the door, not quite sure how painful today’s
meeting with Human Resources would be.
I treated every step of this
morning’s walk to work like a funeral procession, absorbing everything
in sight and unsure if I would travel down this street again. When I
arrived at my office building, I rode the elevator with the rest of the
people from my boss’s team, each of us quietly staring at the brass
doors, trying not to look at one another. As the doors opened and we
exited the elevator to our new futures, we were greeted by Marcy
Gibbons, the head of Human Resources.