Screw You Guys…I’m Going Home

I can’t even remember what the last straw was.

For the longest time I’ve wanted to leave this hellhole. But I was tied down by a contract for two of the four years I’ve been here, after which my boss has managed to give me just enough incentive every six months for me to look forward to more. Here, I’ve done the work of three people; been betrayed by my colleagues; been let down by my own boss, repeatedly; and worked with the subordinate from hell. I’m more proud of myself for having survived all this than having gone from the lowest position to the highest in under four years’ time.

I will forever have my former ed-in-chief T to thank for all the things he’d tried to teach me, and even more for those I’d actually learned. I will forever be grateful for the opportunities I’ve gotten here (I can’t imagine myself moving up this fast anywhere else.) And I will forever treasure the handful of good friends I’ve met from this company.

But T’s recent retirement has all of a sudden made me the company gweilo; everyone comes to me with their English problems while I have nobody to turn to for help. His retirement also translated to my taking over, so the title that I once so wanted now signifies a dead end. And my handful of friends, well, they’re all smarter than me and have one-by-one successfully found their ways out of the hellhole.

I once heard that in any work environment with five people or more, there’d be office politics (I’d think it’s more like three.) But what I find most intimidating here is that it looks so harmonious on the outside; it’s friggin Pleasantville with everyone getting along so well with their prêt-à-porter phony smiles. Only in the past couple of years have I learned to consider the real motives underneath people’s seemingly harmless actions, and to treasure my limited ability to make small talk, which doesn’t hide my reclusiveness so well as it does the fact that people’s stupidity pisses me off.

And what’s with the constant gossiping?! The thin line between being concerned and being nosy is so easy to define. If you’re concerned about someone, you talk to him/her directly. If you find yourself asking someone else, you’re just nosy and disrespectful. Though my “concerned” colleagues have shown me one exception: There are possible justifications as to why my boss told at least three colleagues about my wish to resign back in March when negotiations were still underway, but I never would’ve thought those colleagues could be so unprofessional as to come pry me about the news. In the end, I stayed. But I knew that I could no longer trust the people I’m supposed to work so closely with.

I must say I was much happier when I was underpaid and did all the work anyway. I was hella naïve and having something to work toward made me feel alive.

I need to reunite with my high.