Quitting
“Would you like me to start a tab?”
“Nah, I’m only going to have one.” Arlo paid and took his beer to a high-top table by the window. It was snowing. Not the big flakes quietly drifting down to form a beautiful blanket. But tiny needles that blew down at a sharp angle with the gusting wind. Most people went directly home from work and stayed there. However, Arlo wanted to celebrate. Even if it meant walking through the storm for six blocks to be by himself in a deserted taproom. At least his cat didn’t try to escape out the door on inclement evenings.
Earlier in the day, he got the expected raise with his annual review, but it was much less than anticipated. Instead of rewarding him for the historic achievements he had accomplished in one year, relative to the company’s 65-year history, he was given excuses. As a result, he decided to quit. Not yet. But soon.
It was the decision he was commemorating.
He weighed the life repercussions, good and bad, but felt so compelled and confident, that he was sure he could make it on his own.
Out the window, an older man waited for a snow plow to pass before crossing the street toward the bar. In a few moments, he was inside, stomping his feet to expel the white stuff from his boots.
The bartender started pouring. “Hey Matt.”
“Roland, did you order this blizzard?”
“Yes, sir. I needed a quiet evening. But now that you’re here, that won’t be happening.”
“Ha. Too true. There aren’t enough others here for me to bother.”
Roland placed the beer on the bar, while Matt was hanging his coat, scarf, and hat. Arlo turned towards the new arrival and recognized him from the neighborhood, although they never met.
“You won’t believe the day I had,” Matt said, walking towards the bar.
“Hit me with it. Misery loves company,” Roland replied with a grin.
Matt shared a series of absurd workplace mishaps as well as office politics and opined about his career choices. Arlo couldn’t help but chuckle at the familiar stories and found himself joining in on the conversation from across the room.
As the laughter subsided, Matt raised his beer. “Something about you. Eyes full of fire, like you just walked out of a furnace.”
“Something like that.” Arlo moved to a stool at the bar to explain his day, and disappointment, as well as his decision to leave.
Silence settled between them. “Brave,” Matt finally said, his voice gruff. “But remember, every furnace is fueled by something. Make sure you have enough to keep it burning.”
Arlo stared at his half-empty glass. Doubt, like the wind outside, tugged at his confidence. He pushed it aside, preparing to leave.
“Jack, pour this man another.” Matt paused. “Put it on my tab.”
Arlo looked quizzical.
Matt continued, “Look kiddo, don’t take my words wrong. You are brave. But it can be rough. I’ve been down that path. I’m just trying to lay some reality on you, which can help get you to where you wanna be.”
Jack placed another beer in front of Arlo.
Matt went on, “Jack could tell you the same thing. I remember when he started this place fifteen years ago.”
Jack concurred, “It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t. Especially when there’s not enough customers to pay the bills, like tonight.”
Matt went on, “Nevertheless, I’m on the verge of going down that same path again.”
The three talked about the struggles and benefits of running a business. Arlo was fully absorbed in the conversation and recognized that controlling one’s destiny was a previously unarticulated purpose that he now recognized he shared.
Arlo raised his glass to Matt and Jack, thanking them for their experiences.
He left the bar, feeling strangely empowered and slightly buzzed. Or, maybe it was just buzzed? At least the wind felt invigorating instead of chilling. He contemplated the metaphorical fire that Matt broached. He wouldn’t resign right away and chuckled aloud, “So much for quitting my job. Now I have two: one I’m going to leave and one I haven’t started.”
He also needed to figure out a way to tell his cat that pursuing destiny might be risking the feline’s lifetime supply of tuna.
by George Alger
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