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Work by Raychel Severance. [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
VIVA LA JOY.

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April 6th, 2012

Ways to quit your job. [Apr. 6th, 2012|01:13 pm]
VIVA LA JOY.

Well, I left New Orleans. I'd say it was on a whim, but I'd be lying to you if I said I didn't think I'd end up jumping on the bus when I knew Underscore Orkestra was coming to town for a brief stint on their tour. My time for this season in New Orleans had somewhat long since come to a close, since I was no longer playing music and was working at a nice little restaurant called the Royal Street Deli, washing dishes and occasionally running deliveries on my bike to strip clubs that gave me free whiskey shots as tips. I liked the job just fine, but mostly only because of the people I worked with. The owner, however, was a different story; a fiery, manic depressive woman blatantly waist-deep in her midlife crisis, which she made apparent to everyone by her failing attempts at youthful, hip attire and music choices that were fit more for a sixteen-year-old piece of trailer trash, the glass of wine she kept practically glued to her hand, and her equally indulgent and theatrical Floridian-runaway daughter. From day one, although everyone else at the Deli took very well to me, the owner had it out for me. She tried every which way to fire me for the most minuscule things, even though I was doing my job just fine and was doing everything expected of me. Her vendetta out for me, however, clearly had nothing actually to do with me or my job performance, but about three thousand other deep-rooted issues this woman was trying to deal with while simultaneously running a deli in the French Quarter, holding onto her equally twisted ex-husband who she hated and who hated her, and also purchasing one of those cutting-edge, overpriced lofts in the newly gentrified areas of New Orleans -- you know, the ones that used to be famous squats.

To put it simply, it's miraculous I didn't quit my job sooner, or really for any reason directly related to her. When the bus (appropriately named Falcor after the luck dragon in The Neverending Story) came to town, and a ride back up North to Vermont with a two week tour along the way was offered to me, I'd have been a moron not to accept, especially given how badly I'd wanted to leave for the last couple of weeks anyway. I'd left far better jobs to run away with the circus, and no dishwashing job for a woman this confused was going to keep me around longer than necessary. Regardless, I wasn't about to go out without a bang. I'd let her walk all over me for the last month, and I'd taken her attitude problem and unnecessary snaps my way and swallowed them for the entirety of the time I worked for her, all because I knew how long it'd taken me just to find THIS shitty job, let alone another one. After two days of trying to track her down, talk to her at work, call her, anything, I still hadn't had so much as two minutes to talk to her, to tell her I was quitting and leaving town. So it came down to a note, which I left on the schedule board, and if there's any method at which I am far too good at expressing my true feelings about something, it's a note. Never cross me when writing is involved, because I've got this amazing weapon I call "articulation." If the bitch would have just given me a minute of her incredibly valuable time, or perhaps not ignored my numerous phone calls, the whole operation could have been a lot less, well, confrontational.

Regrets? Nah.

Dear Mary*,

I tried calling you and getting a hold of you several times, but no luck. Circus bus came to town, and I'm not so stupid as to let it pass me by, so I QUIT!!! I'd say I'm sorry you loathed my existence at your restaurant so much, but it's not really my fault you never gave my character a fair chance because you're convinced everyone in the world owes it to you to drop what they're doing to cater to you. In retrospect I don't regret not trying to get you to warm up to me because i know it would've just involved feeding your unnecessarily large ego and I've got too much pride to so for a shitty service industry job at which my boss hates me for no apparently good reason. You should try not to write people off so quickly just because you don't necessarily understand them; you might find you meet some really great people who have a lot to offer you. Best of luck, regardless; your food is fucking awesome. Your social skills, not so much.

Peace, love, and brussel sprouts,
Raychel.

(*Name was changed.)



So I'm back on tour with the Underscore Orkestra again, who I did a brief stint with back in the Fall of 2010. I'm in Asheville, North Carolina as I write this, headed to Durham today and onward to DC. I can already feel the black mold clearing from my lungs and I'm happy to be surrounded by music again.









See you soon, Vermont.

The Underscore Orkestra.
Tallahassee, Florida.

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