Thoughts That Go Through Your Head On Your Last Day Of Work

Thoughts That Go Through Your Head On Your Last Day Of Work

I never realized this because most of my previous jobs were along the lines of waiting tables at a country club and doing dishes at a fish-fry joint, but quitting a “real” job sucks. You’re actually letting people down as opposed to ushering in a new biscuit for the retired golfers to fawn over as she stirs the Arnie Palmies.

Fulfilling your duties after putting in your two-weeks notice is like planting a permanent angel and devil on each of your shoulders. You know you have responsibilities to fulfill, but you also just don’t give a fuck because you’re not going to be personally affected. In the same breath, you also just don’t want to be an asshole, so you know you have to crush it before the entire company has grounds to tarnish your name.

But that last day? That last day is brutal because, at that point, nothing really matters anymore.

“I’d ask myself, ‘How can I make myself look busy while actually doing nothing all day?’ but I’ve pretty much perfected that since my first day here, so I’ll just keep on keepin’ on until I walk out of here forever tonight.”

“Are people seriously emailing me right now? The lights are on but no one’s home, guys.”

“Instead of putting in my two weeks notice, would it have been easier to just Gone Girl myself and never talk to any of these people again?”

“I should clear my internet history just to cover all my bases.”

“No. I should intentionally download a virus so an IT guy is forced to clear my entire computer.”

“Fuck this. I should just put a bat to my computer and blame it on someone else. What’re they gonna do – fire me? Ha, fuckin’ losers.”

“The last thing I want to do is clean out my desk, but I have no idea what type of shit I’ve accumulated over the past few years.”

“Extra Strength Gold Bond. Check. A Playboy condom from what appears to be 2002? Check. Bottle caps from some late night grind sessions? Check. A tin of dried out Copenhagen pouches? Dammit. What a waste.”

“I’m 100% having beers at lunch today.”

“Or vodka. Smells less, less filling, can easily bring back to my desk in a to-go coffee cup.”

“Do I do a ‘Quack Quack Quack, Mr. Ducksworth’ speech to my boss or would that be considered bridge burning?”

“I really hope no one planned anything for me today. I didn’t quit my job because I want to hang out with these people more.”

“Do people get severance packages anymore or is that the type of thing that went out the door when the economy tanked?”

“Not even sure what ‘severance’ means.”

“Actually, yes, I do. It means I’d get new golf clubs.”

“Shit, I wonder if I have to do an exit interview. I should just schedule tee times from now until I start my new gig so I have a perpetual excuse to blow it off.”

“Why is this person approaching me with a puzzled look on their face? Can’t they tell I’m the most checked out person in the world? I’m wearing fucking sandals.”

“I’m going to Weekend At Bernie’s this and put on shades for the rest of the day. Really put out the vibe that I can’t be interrupted.”

“Whatever they ask me, I’m going to respond, ‘You know, I’m not sure,’ and then deflect to literally anyone else at the company. I mean, I’ve been doing that for the last four years so why stop now?”

“Does quitting my job mean I can finally bang my work-wife without any repercussions from HR? Yahtzee.”

“Alright, how long do I have to wait to text her about getting happy hour? I don’t want her to bring any of these scrubs from the office.”

“A day? A week? A month? Fuck it. I’m sending her a chat now because you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

“If one more person asks ‘So, how does it feel on your last day?’ to me I’m going to go postal. How does it feel? It feels like I need to get the fuck out of here because I haven’t done a damn thing since I put in my two weeks.”

“I’m so fucking bored.”

“Work-wife text. Aaaaaaaand we’re in business.”

“How long do I have to wait before un-friending and blocking management on social media so they don’t get offended. This whole Gone Girl thing is sounding better and better.”

“Alright, 4:55. Home stretch. If anyone approaches me, I’m just going to Heisman the fuck out of them.”

“And that goes double if anyone tries luring me into the break room for a goodbye party.”

“Do I just pretend to go to the bathroom and sneak the fuck out? Or do I just go out Spieth’ing it with double middle-fingers in the air?”

“I’m going to get so drunk tonight.”

Image via Shutterstock

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Allen Gamble

I've always got Little River Band loaded up here. I've got six discs.

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