This is the end, my friends. I’m soon to be out of a day job!
Yesterday, while deciding which dates to book my plane ticket home for Christmas, I thought: “Wait, maybe I should figure out what’s happening with work. Maybe my schedule will be wide open after all!” So I sent the bosses an email, reminding them that I’m leaving in four weeks, and that decisions still had to be made. Well, I asked for it.
Today, boss: “We love you dearly, but we can’t make this work.” Sigh. Understood. “We’ll buy all the booze at your going-away party.” Proposal accepted. They’ve got to do their thing, I’ve got to do mine. Contract work may be a possibility, I’d like that.
This is obviously scary, but exciting. Most comics lose leave their day jobs eventually. A lot of my comedy friends have done it lately, and that makes the idea less jarring. I will miss the paycheque, but look forward to the freedom. “Yes, I can do a four-day trip to play some sketchy bars in Northern Alberta, and I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission.”
“So where do we go from here?” I asked. “Do I stay for the next few weeks, or do I get escorted out of the building now?” It’s happened before. That’s why I already cleared out a lot of my stuff.
“We want to keep you as long as we can,” he said. “Just let us know when your last day will be.”
My last day was supposed to be a Tuesday, but I think I’ll make it the Friday before. Especially if alcohol will be a factor.
I’ve been complaining about work long enough. It’s a great job, but I shouldn’t be in an office full-time. Time to figure out what I want to do with the next phase of my life.