A night to remember... (Birthday: Part II)

In case I haven't told you yet, my birthday was friggin' awesome.

After spending the afternoon generally resting and reveling in the calm before the storm, I began to get back in step with some balloon inflating. I completed the project before my sister and her boyfriend (who intended to help me) showed up - which was all for the best, because then we could make a hasty jaunt to the Rogue Pub where I could take advantage of my free yearly half yard of beer. Or so we thought.

Scott from Holocene called as we were stepping out the door and we were able to swing by to distribute the newly inflated balloons - which was a load off my mind. Seeing Holocene in the fluorescent light of day was odd. It looks smaller. And without the cover of mood, it is blatantly apparent how sparse the decor is. Truly a success in minimalism.

With floating bunches of lime green, mandarin orange and silver in place, we left for the Rogue. Time, at this point, was running out and I did not have the time to drink my half yard with the leisure that such a thing usually demands. Needless to say, I was sporting a healthy buzz when we arrived at Jakes for my Birthday Dinner With The Family.

I like seafood, and I like Jakes - but the real reason I chose this place was because I'd been told they carry 25-year-old scotch. I was told correctly. I am now of an opinion that 25-year-old scotch does not change in any but the subtlest ways in the 10 years that pass between it and a slightly more economical 15-year-old variety. But, lord, is it smooth. All flavor and no bite or burn. I will never ask my Dad how much our two glasses cost him, but they were worth it. For his part, Dad had bought me a bottle of 12-year single malt that he had researched and found to be The Good Stuff. It was, also, the finest bottle he could find at the one store he went to. I could say something about the occasion of a son turning 25 possibly being cause to go to more than one liquor store looking for scotch, but I am sure I will be more than happy with his choice. Thank you, Dad.

The dinner was the best family gathering in recent memory. Perhaps, actually, since my last family birthday two years ago. Maybe it is just when seen through the birthday high that the family comes across so pleasantly. But conversation was animated. Food was delicious. Togetherness was felt. I regret that my Uncle and clan chose not to attend, but I respect their reasons.

And then on to the party.

I arrived just before 8 as the band was finishing up sound check. The band. That I had at my birthday. It just sounds good to say that. My first guests were there moments after, and they were the unlikeliest of first-comers. A new friend, Aaron - who tends bar at the wonderful Renaissance cafe - was there +guest. Shortly after, Nestor - another friend who I rarely see - was the next invitee. That the first people to come were people apart from the inner circle of my friends is a great compliment to me and my party: It was a good sign.

All in all, I can account for at least 40 people (parents excluded) in attendance. I am almost certainly missing a few. There were many who I didn't expect and many I did expect that fell short. None of which mattered at the time - but let me just say to those who didn't make it: You missed a great party. That is not meant to shame. It is merely a fact. I was kept in drink (predominantly a gin concoction with cucumber that was cool and refreshing as well as intoxicating. Sweet Jimmy T Did me service and more than service by spinning records until the wee hours - and even stooping low at my request to play "Footloose" - which is the single greatest dance song of all time. I also cut some rug to "Love Pipe," by the Red Elvises, whose day has come and gone. I could say more about the evening, but it is not a recollection of numbers and informations that will stick with me. It is the simultaneous feeling of love and support and joy and pride and giving and receiving that I embodied all day.

And maybe that's why Monday was so terrible.

I was, miraculously, not hung over. It is a birthday miracle. I was, however, Very Tired. I was at work on time, but there was a cloud above my head all day. I was constantly taken with the need to get out of there, like it was sucking me dry of all the feelings laid out in the above paragraph. And so, I called the Boss and asked for a sit-down. As we were on the phone together, he being out as he so often is, I did not want to make any true decisions. Things like this are best done in person. But I did impress on him in plain words that I was unhappy in the position I've been put and needed concrete plans to be reinstated in the function for which I was hired. His response was non committal and defensive, stating that I would never truly not be in a sales position and if that is a problem for me it may be time for me to "move on." This is nothing I haven't thought of or expected. But it was finally real. I postponed any final judgments until we could arrange for a meeting Tuesday. These things are better done in person, after all.

When Tuesday came, I was wresting with the idea of whether to quit or endeavor to get fired. To me, being fired - or, rather, "let go" - would acknowledge for Rick's part that my purpose for being there had evaporated or never materialized and thank you very much, but we just don't need you. It would have made me feel right. I also thought about going on a tirade and telling Rick all the things that are wrong with him and his company. I wasn't sure what exactly I would do when we sat down.

Of course, we'll never know, because that didn't happen.

I went to his office, asked if he had time. He said no. I asked if I should wait. He said he would call me. I accepted this and went to lunch because I was hungry and it was my lunch. When I came back, he had left for the day on some errand or other. I fumed. It was another two hours until I simply called him and told him I was giving my notice. His response, and I will remember this exactly and always - though I don't know why - was: "Sorry things didn't work out for you, buddy." And what really gets me about that statement is the utter disposability with which he views me, and I suspect all the employees in his company. I knew it, but knowing and feeling are two different things.

So I have quit my job. I will put in two weeks to wrap up loose ends and hopefully make a smooth transition for the people I work closely with and have come to respect and care about. It's odd because almost nobody who leaves this company ever does things the respectable way. One day they just decide to stop coming in. And I don't blame them. It's a symptom of the crushing feeling one gets working there. You take all the pressure until finally you just snap. The snapping is a quick thing and once you have broken, there is no way to possibly phone two extra weeks. But I will do it, and it is my hope that in doing it people will know that I have no malice and was a good employee and deserved better than I got. That is my little smug hope.

What does all this mean? Likely that I will be blogging a lot more. That I will be taking some time to reflect. And, ultimately, that I need a new job. Anybody have any ideas?

-Thank you for reading.