I believe that it’s apparent that I have had a lot of jobs in the course of my life. For me to move on from one job to the next wonderful opportunity, it means that I have had to quit a lot of jobs over the years too. Quitting jobs is a delicate proposition. It must be done professionally and in a mature way so as not to upset your employer and ensure a good recommendation in the future. Or in my case, you can leave a smokey trail of burnt bridges across the land. When I want to quit a job, my impatience rules and I just have to get the fuck out of there.
Pizzeria Uno, South Street Seaport. I had worked there for about four months I guess. I hated it because the place stayed open until two in the fucking morning and sometimes I wouldn’t get home until almost 3:30. All we served were tourists and rats. And when prom time rolled around, I couldn’t believe how many guys brought their date to Pizzeria Uno for the big night. I think a lot of girls traded in their V-card for a deep dish pepperoni pizza that year. How romantic. Anyhoo, after a summer there, I was really on the edge and wanting a new job. One day at our shift meeting before the evening shift, our managers were ripping us new assholes. Some servers were adding gratuity to the checks of foreign tourists without telling them. Now we all know that a lot of foreign tourists don’t tip and it’s great when we can add the grat. But what these waiters were doing was adding it, burying the total in the check and then not telling them and hoping they would get tipped on top of it. Ethically and morally wrong and believe it or not I was not doing it. Shut up, I really wasn’t. (Truth be told, I was still too new and didn’t even know it was a possibility. I was innocent by ignorance.) At the shift meeting our managers were really upset about it and screaming at all of us even though it was just a few servers who were guilty of this horrendous crime. “It’s wrong, it’s dishonest, it’s stealing from the company!” In all actuality, I think it was stealing from the customers, but whatever. I really didn’t appreciate getting yelled at for something I had no part of. After the manager had hissed her last breath of anger, I went to look at my station for the night. I didn’t like it. I was supposed to close. I didn’t like that either. Suddenly I realized that there were way too many things about this job I didn’t like.
I went to the back of the house and to my locker and got my belongings. I walked back through the kitchen, to the time clock, punched out and walked past the host stand. Someone yelled at me, “Hey, how are you getting to leave so early?” “Easy,” I answered. “I just punched out. Bye, I quit.”
I mailed them a self-addressed stamped envelope the next day for my final paycheck and never set foot in that place again. Quitting jobs is easy. And fun. Fuck you, Pizzeria Uno. Fuck you and all the rats that live there.