I quit my fucking job

I did. I did the thing. Except today I have to go back b/c ex-boss is holding my things for ransom.  He wouldn’t let me pack up my supplies  yesterday. Asshole.

Let me back up, there’s a story here.

Waaaaaaaaaay back in the long long ago on April 23, 2016 ex-boss planned a mini team building shop trip/vacation to Las Vegas. Ex-boss invited 3 male friends along with co-artist and I.  The first day in Vegas was fine. Co-artist and I hung out, walked the strip, and watched the Cirque show Ka together on a moving stage, it was pretty cool.

Second day was dumb day.  Co-artist wanted to hang out with The Guys so we spent the afternoon binge drinking.  I’m not really a Vegas person. Drinking and gambling surrounded by cigarette smoke is not my idea of an awesome time.

Co-artist and I were Vegas buddies the whole trip.  We helped each other out and kept an eye on each other.  We stayed together the whole time except for ~30 minutes when I went up to bed Sunday night b/c the others wanted to stay up.

I wish that I knew what I know now… when I was younger… I wish that I knew what I know now… when I was stronger…

Co-artist and the youngest of ex-boss’ friends decide to have a hookup b/c they’re in Vegas so why not?  I had told Co-artist during the day that if she needed the room to just let me know.

Here are the things that are now burned into my psyche: I went upstairs, changed into pjs, washed my face, brushed my teeth, toilet, took night meds, put in my mouth guard, turned out the light and rolled over on my left side.

Less than 10 minutes after the light was out Co-artist stumbles into the room in tears.  I ask her what is wrong, she sobs out nothing. I turn on the light. I comfort her on her bed. I bring her tissues.  At one point I climb into the bed and pet her head.

She tells me her story.

I listen.

She justifies what happens to her.

I listen.

I am a wreck for the next 2 weeks.  My filter is gone the next morning. Husband and Future Boyfriend pick me up from the airport once we get there.  The story of the previous night spills out of me in a stream of consciousness. I am manic and wired and terrified of everything.

I spend the first week doing self care triage. I call out on Wednesday.  I call my therapist. I tell my doctor, therapist, and massage therapist what happened and how it affected me.

I decide in the end to stick it out, or at least try to stick it out through the summer.  I have a couple conversations with Co-artist afterwards. She tells me not to obsess about it. Forget it happened.  That he wasn’t the first guy and shrugs.

At the beginning of week 2 I get chewed out for being sick the prior week and I learn that only ex-Boss and Co-artists can ever call in sick ever.  He brings up non-work related hobbies that I have. He says a lot of shit designed to keep me down.

At the end of week 2 I come clean to ex-Boss with the idea that I have nothing left to lose. The truth will either bring the shop closer or drive us apart.

It was the latter.  The actual conversation was awful.  I was ostracized and given the silent treatment this week. Yesterday I resigned and was as professional AS FUCK.  I had a resignation letter, my final totals, and my key all tucked neatly in a clearly labeled envelope.  I brought bags with me to quietly pack up my things and get out of there ASAP. Ex-boss told me I was only allowed to take a few things that day and I had to return the next day to get the rest of my stuff. When I told him I was going to take the things that were obviously mine (like my printer and standing light) he didn’t like that very much.

When I showed up before shop hours he had a client and I asked him politely if he could speak with me outside. I handed him the letter. Words exchanged. When I went inside he kept coming back to harass me with his client in the next room.  I didn’t respond b/c I just wanted to pack up my things and leave.

Husband and I going back today and as soon as we step inside we’ll be informing him that he’s being voice recorded. Fucker.

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