Quitting Your Job
This is for a writing challenge in a Telegram group I joined (link here if you're interested: https://t.me/joinchat/TXMB1RU1ETeKOakg)). At just over a thousand words, we would write a short story fitting a chosen theme. The new theme for this week is, "A much needed vacation."
Who hasn't had the urge to quit a job they don't like? Thank God that I left retail a couple years back. It's the entitled customers that's always the worst, to be honest. My mental health has been better ever since, and you couldn't get me to go back for all the money in the world.
Also, it's good to see more stories set in the Motel (6)9 in Crossroads City, Utah! :)
Compared to my shitty apartment, the local Motel 9 was a five-star resort. I didn’t care if my travels basically brought me across town, or that I barely left the Crossroads City limits; I deserved a much-needed vacation away from everything.
No, I required it.
I felt it in my aching bones the instant I closed the door behind me and set the luggage next to the stand holding an ancient TV set—the kind that died out with the Nineties. My body happily sank into the soft mattress. I eagerly kicked my shoes onto the floor while laying sprawled atop the blanket and ridiculous number of pillows. My canine tail wagged happily at the silence. My normally perked Labrador ears folded in on themselves in euphoric bliss. My golden fur prickled at the air conditioning that felt better, much different than the one at home.
Not even the dollar store owned such a luxury.
I stared directly at the ceiling and frowned. Only for a moment though. I couldn’t help but grin at remembering what led me to becoming unemployed and then impulsively purchasing a motel room for a week after four years of toiling in retail. It felt hard to believe that I had merely quit in the middle of my shift a few hours ago.
“Now,” I muttered, sighing as I closed my tired eyes and let the events of the previous day roll over me, “I’m free…I’m fucking free…”
I literally fell asleep seconds later, then awoke sometime around noon the next day. I enjoyed myself in bed for several more minutes, nuzzling into the soft pillows and sheets, until my stomach suddenly growled. Chuckling, I decided to go for brunch. I went to take a shower, get dressed in comfortable pajama bottoms, shoes, and a t-shirt before venturing across the street at Mikey’s Diner. As I walked from the Motel 9’s entrance and jaywalked to the rustic and family-oriented restaurant, the oppressive Utah heat didn’t register. Not when I lived on cloud nine, having caught up on lost sleep, especially in the middle of the work week.
I basked in the wonderland of emotions, such as relaxed contentment, newfound ease, happiness at the beautiful day, and more. My tail refused to stop swaying merrily, even with the smell of burnt coffee and a crying, spoiled cub shrieking at a corner table, alongside his parents. I lazily yawned and asked the hostess for a booth, smiling at her and then myself as I checked my phone. I started sending messages back to friends and caught up with social media, then decided to check for job openings when the current news got too depressing to read.
Hopefully, an office job or warehouse position would be available. I was tired of interacting with selfish, angry, manipulative, ungrateful cretins who didn’t care about basic decency or kindness. I was tired of retail management too.
A notification popped up on my phone screen. It was from one of my former managers, speaking of the Devil. The text simply read, “Answer your voicemail dammit!”
The always-angry bull used to terrify me, being one of my most vocal critics at work, but now he didn’t even seem like a threat, not anymore.
So, I just swiped the notification aside. When another one popped up (“Answer your phone! NOW!”), I swiped it again, then received another (“You’re late for your shift!”). I ignored that one too and hoped it would eventually stop. Unfortunately, after giving the handsome fox waiter my order of banana and chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon, it wouldn’t be long before my phone started vibrating, telling me it was my _former _manager calling me.
Frustrated at this point, I picked up. “Yeah, what?” I asked, mildly annoyed.
“Do you know how late you are?!” His voice pierced my ear drum.
I growled, “I told you before, that—”
“Now’s not the time to be a spoiled little brat, kid!” he shouted, having the audacity to sound exasperated. “Now stop it with your tantrum and get back here for work.”
“What part of ‘I quit’ isn’t getting through to you—”
“You’re needed here! Everything’s gone to fuckin’ hell and now I’ve got the goddamn regional supervisor breathing down my ass crack!”
A little bravery slivered its way into my voice, and I let out a laugh.
“Did you ask the regional supervisor if he’s into that first?” I barked back. When he responded with a loud gasp, as if he couldn’t comprehend my words, I lowered my voice and told him, “I’m quitting, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind!”
“You need to be here though!” he spat. “You were supposed to come in an hour early and help out with shelving! Now, I’ve got a fucking voting line forming in front of two registers, the floor on the frozen section’s filthy, and the regional supervisor’s gonna be here in three hours!”
“Not my job, not my problem! Now stop calling!” I hung up next. A dark scoff escaped the back of my throat when his number reappeared onscreen. “Motherfucking asshole…”
“Did you need more privacy, sir?” The handsome fox waiter awkwardly stood nearby, carrying a small tray that held my pancakes. “Sorry, it was kinda hard to not overhear everything…”
“Sorry! I, um…” My ears fell. “I quit my job. The boss still thinks I’m kidding.”
“First of all, congratulations on no longer working at—what I presume is—a horrible place to be at, based on that guy’s loud voice,” the fox, whose nametag read ‘Ken’, said as he placed my pancakes in front of me on the table. “Wish I could give this on the house. Everyone deserves free food and pancakes after telling off their horrible bosses like that.”
I lightheartedly snorted. The vibrations of my phone suddenly felt incredibly far away.
“You don’t have them?” I asked Ken. “I mean, here?”
He shrugged. “Not really. The owners are chill, and the manager doesn’t tolerate customers that treat his servers terribly, so…you’d never have to worry about that.”
I paused midway through slicing my pancakes, looked up to this handsome red fox, then slowly smiled. I understood what was going on here.
“Anyway,” Ken cleared his throat, “is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Sure is,” I said. “Do you…What can you tell me about the job openings at this place?”
We shared the same smirk. He answered, “Plenty. I’ll be right back with my supervisors. I suggest you tell off your former one. Again. Maybe block his number?”
I laughed, “Gladly,” then took a bite of my heavenly breakfast.