Out of a sense of self-preservation and duty to family, I’ve decided to leave my current consulting gig at an unstable company who might (or might NOT) have eventually offered me a staff position for a consulting job at a healthier firm. This can’t go on forever.
A prerequisite for the new gig was that I start on Monday. When you leave a job, it’s customary to give two weeks’ notice. If you’re a consultant, however, the rules are a little looser. If they had to terminate my contract, I wouldn’t have been given two minutes notice much less two weeks. So I was shocked (shocked!) at the anger and vitriol spewed by my boss because I was only giving them one week notice. She stood up from her chair, her eyes flaring, and told me I was the most unprofessional person she ever met. She disappeared into the department head’s office for about :45 minutes and when she came back she walked up to my desk and said that everyone (meaning, her) felt it best if I left right now. They confiscated my ID and threw me out of the building! I don’t recall anyone being that angry at me. Ever!
The headhunter who placed me at my new gig said he could rustle up a short project to finish out the week but since the next day was The Daughter’s birthday (5-years old with a vengeance), I decided to take the rest of the week off. When I related this tale of rejection to Mrs. Wife, she suggested that I take a day and blow off some steam in Atlantic City. What a wife!
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I had a quick cup of coffee and headed straight for the craps tables. It’s my thing! I love the game, the people, the language, the culture. Favorite bit of overheard banter:
70-ish year-old woman: “Give me the six and the nine.”
Stickman: “The six and nine! My favorite numbers!”
70-ish year-old woman: “Mine, too, when I was younger.”
Pit boss: “This is supposed to be a family destination.”