What a week... I realised as I awoke on Monday morning that I’d never actually had to give my notice in before, so wasn’t really sure how to approach it. I also realised that I hadn’t written my letter of resignation (it slipped my mind in the craziness of it all) so I scrawled something onto a sheet of A4 plagiarised from www.i-resign.com and stuffed it in an envelope. Alice’s suggestion via SMS made me laugh: “Walk in. Slap her. Then clear your desk and go!”. Possibly not the most practical of solutions. I’ll not burn my bridges... When it came to it, the resignation wasn’t as hard as I had expected. I just ushered my manager into a private room and broke it to her gently. She was shocked, but on the other hand could completely understand why I was doing it. She knows as well as I do that I didn’t spend 4 years at university to earn a crust being shouted at by arsey ntl customers. So off she todded to tell her manager, to find out if I’d be working my notice or clearing out my desk that very afternoon and enjoying a month of gardening leave. I’m working my notice. The sheer hypocrisy... the last person who quit was shown the door the next day, but just because they didn’t bother to replace him and are therefore short-staffed, I’m working the full month as panic-stations klaxons sound at HR and the recruitment drive is stepped up. Still - I’m not bitter - whilst I’m not going to miss the job for a minute, I’m really going to miss everyone I worked with, so I’m glad that I’m going to be able to see them for an extra month. I was quite touched at how upset everyone on the team was when I told them I was going, and apparently I’ve now hijacked the team night out at the end of the month as my official leaving do! Rah! So work this week has been weird. Weird because, in a way, it doesn’t feel any different, and yet I know I’m counting down the days until I’ll never be here again. In a fucked-up kind of way I think I’m going to miss it. And I know I keep going on about it, but I’m really going to miss the people. Ironically, I’ve also performed better this month than I can ever remember, and so I’m looking to make a massive commission in my final wage as well. Maybe my morals have gone out of the window? Maybe it’s just because the pressure’s finally off and I can see light at the end of the tunnel. Three times this week my manager has told me that I can always retract my resignation if I want, and it’s not too late to change my mind. She’s even told me that if my new job goes horribly wrong, I’d always be welcome back. I don’t think I’ve ever known anything like it. I thought callcentre mentality was that as soon as you showed any form of disloyalty, you were treated with scorn and contempt. I’d like to think that I’ve proven my worth to them. Of course the cynic in me thinks it’s because I’m the only person on my team who knows how to give broadband technical support, and the only person who writes letters that include both punctuation and words with more than two syllables. It’s certainly been the longest week I can remember at work - I thought it would never end - and I wasn’t likely to get much of a break on Saturday either with a Gaz to move in. I needn’t have worried of course. I could quite easily have had an extra couple of hours in bed and done normal Saturday things, as, predictably enough, it all went completely tits-up. As everyone prepared to pack (a very hungover) Gaz’s life into boxes and send him up the M1 to the frozen wastelands of the North, it turned out that his brother, who was organising the van, thought that he was moving next weekend. Genius. So as plans were made to postpone everything to next weekend (you know - the weekend I swapped my Saturday shift to, so that I would have this Saturday off... Pffft...), I rolled up to Suzanne’s and spent a lazy evening getting stoned, eating pizza and watching DVDs on her, frankly splendid, surround sound setup that I had<