Yesterday I left work at five promptly, quickly, and a little tipsy on prosecco, wanting to be sure I was well away before the shit hit the fan. Under the guise of toasting my upcoming nuptuals, one of my favorite colleagues decided to give his month’s notice.
“First I’d like everyone to join me in wishing Megan all the best, and I’d also like to tell you all that June will be my last month at BlahBlah.”
Boom, the bomb dropped. No one said anything for a second (they needed to mentally translate and double check since he’d said it in English) and then everyone asked at once,
“Does she know?”
They weren’t meaning me, but our boss who works out of the US. I’ve landed myself in a modern Charlie’s Angels setup where the boss calls in or emails more than she ever can put her face in the doorway. At the time of this toast, she was probably still dreaming of her Memorial Day weekend. My co-worker had of course saved that best part for last since it would be the most unpleasant part of all, hence the bubbly liquid reinforcement.
As everyone stood there staring at him the following thoughts were doubtlessly going through their minds: the law had just changed allowing employees to give one month’s notice instead of three, the fact that our boss was the in the US would slow down the replacement process by at least a month or two, and that August was a very busy month at our company.
He really brought the prosecco for me, and also asked my permission to make the announcement in this way shortly beforehand. Together we killed most of the bottles, we needed the wine more than the rest. Not only will I miss him like the half-brother you see every sunmmer for extended vacation, he’s been my work-spouse. He is hands down the best partner in paid labor I’ve ever had. Our boss would not take this inconvenient news too well either, I suspected; and when I come back from my wedding, most of his work will fall to me.
So, bottoms up.