Quit Cold Turkey

The day my best friend quit her job, I started writing my resignation letter too. My manager, passing by, scoffed. “Her parents supported her before she got married, and her husband supports her now. She’s worth millions. And you?” He sneered. “With that pathetic salary of yours, can you even afford a plane ticket?” I was an orphan as a child. A student on financial aid in college. Now, just cheap labor. There really wasn’t much about me to command respect. But… “I can afford it.” My best friend says her husband isn’t nearly as much fun as I am. She’s paying me ten million dollars to be her companion on her trip around the world—take some photos, keep her company, all expenses paid. And ten million dollars? It’s just enough to buy this entire company.

1 “That’s it. I’m done.” My best friend, Jessica, slammed her resignation letter onto our director’s desk. The entire office fell silent. Dozens of pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. Our director, Mr. Thompson, a paunchy man in his forties, adjusted his glasses and picked up the letter. “Now, Jessie, let’s not be hasty. If you have a grievance, you can always bring it to the company.” Jessica crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “And you’d do something about it? You stole my numbers last month. You stole my creative concept the month before that. And the bonus you promised me? Did your dog eat it?” A flush crept up Mr. Thompson’s neck, but he forced a smile. “Jessie, that’s not how it happened…” “I’m done talking to you,” she cut him off. She pulled the keys to her Rolls-Royce Phantom from her purse and twirled them around her finger. “My resignation is on your desk. Approve it or don’t. Either way, tomorrow, I’m starting my trip around the world.” With that, she spun on her heel and strode out. She paused at my desk and leaned in close. “What are you waiting for?” she whispered. “Get your letter signed and let’s blow this popsicle stand. We’re not wasting another minute on this leech.” I nodded and kept typing. After she left, the silence was shattered by a wave of whispers. “God, to be able to just walk out like that.” “Well, she can afford to. You know who her dad is, who her husband is. We’re not in the same league.” “Seriously. If I had a husband pulling in eight figures, I’d slap my resignation on his face, too.” Amid the murmurs, I finished my own letter. When I pushed open the door to his office, Mr. Thompson was leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “You’re quitting, too?” I placed the letter on his desk. “Yes, Mr. Thompson. I’m resigning.” He stared at me, then let out a short, sharp laugh that grew until his shoulders were shaking. The sound, thick with contempt, was jarringly loud in the quiet office. He wiped a tear from his eye and pointed at me. “Jessica is quitting to go home and be a pampered wife, to pop out a few kids. Her parents left her ten condos downtown, and her husband is on the board of a publicly-traded company. They’re practically royalty.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk, and looked me up and down. “And you, Anna?” “You came from an orphanage. You put yourself through college on student loans. You make five thousand a month. After you pay your loans and your rent, what’s left?” He picked up his desk calculator and made a show of punching in numbers. “Let’s see… is that even enough for a budget flight to Miami?” His words were a dull knife, twisting in my gut. He was right. I came from an orphanage. I was drowning in student debt. I was the company’s cheap labor, and my five-thousand-dollar monthly salary was barely enough to survive on. From his perspective, I had nothing. But did being poor and having no connections mean I deserved to be humiliated like this?

2 Seeing my silence, Mr. Thompson’s smugness grew. He leaned back, his hands folded over his paunch, his chin held high. “Anna, a person needs to know their place.” His voice was low, but loud enough for the entire office to hear. “Don’t get swept up in the drama of the rich. You can’t even reach their world on your tiptoes.” Every word was a cold needle against my skin. I had no family, no background. I didn’t even know who my parents were. Jessica was my only friend. She took me to fancy restaurants, bought me clothes I could only dream of, and never once made me feel small for being poor. She said we were best friends. But to Mr. Thompson, I was just a pathetic hanger-on. He seemed pleased by the stricken look on my face. “Go back to your desk and get to work,” he said, bestowing his magnanimity upon me. “And I’ll even consider adding three hundred dollars to your performance bonus this month.” Three hundred dollars. For the project I’d pulled three all-nighters on, the one he’d put his name on and received a ten-thousand-dollar bonus for. For the creative concept I had meticulously developed, the one he had presented as his own to climb another rung up the corporate ladder. Three hundred dollars wasn’t compensation. It was an insult. Blood rushed to my head. I heard my own voice, hoarse and quiet, but perfectly clear. “I am resigning.” This time, there was no hesitation, no softening of the words. It was a statement of fact. The smile froze on his face. “Anna, do you think jobs grow on trees? Look at any job site. There are hundreds of applicants for every position. What do you have? A degree from a top school? Years of experience on major projects?” His voice turned venomous. “You walk out that door, and I’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. Your file, your letter of recommendation… it all goes through me.” He gestured to a filing cabinet. “All it takes is a few choice words from me, and you’re finished.” I dug my nails into my palms. I knew he would do it. It was how he controlled all of us at the bottom. He got off on the power. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he said, leaning back again, resuming his throne. “Take back your letter, tear it up, and we’ll forget this ever happened. And I’ll still give you the three hundred dollars.” He wouldn’t let me go. He didn’t need an employee; he needed a scapegoat, a workhorse he could exploit without complaint. A nobody he could bully. I knew if I backed down, I would keep my job. I could pay my rent next month. But I also knew that if I backed down, I would be affirming that I was a person who could be trampled on. He would only get worse. I would be trapped under his thumb, bled dry until I had nothing left to give.

3 “Mr. Thompson, you know exactly why I’m resigning.” “When you presented my proposal, you didn’t even bother to leave my name on the PowerPoint.” “The project bonus last month was twelve thousand dollars. You told me, ‘Young people should be willing to sacrifice for the company,’ and kept it all.” “I have records of everything.” With every fact I stated, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “What do you think will happen if I forward all of this in a mass email to the entire company?” I wasn’t Jessica. I couldn’t afford to burn bridges. But I wasn’t a doormat, either. The bonuses he’d pocketed, the credit he’d stolen—I remembered it all. He thought I was an easy target. He was about to find out that even a cornered mouse will bite. His face turned a blotchy red. He stared at me, his eyes burning with a furious hatred. Finally, he ground out two words. “Get. Out.” He snatched the letter from the desk and scrawled his name on it. “Now, get out!” I took the signed letter and turned to leave. As I reached the door, his voice stopped me. “Wait.” I paused, my back to him. “Anna, if we’re going to do this by the book, then we’ll do it all by the book.” His voice had regained its familiar, smug tone. “Company policy states that employees must give one month’s notice. You’ll be expected to complete a thorough handover.” I considered it. It was company policy. If I left now, he could withhold my final paycheck and my official termination papers. I nodded. “Fine. I’ll work out my notice.”

4 Back at my desk, my colleagues scattered, suddenly engrossed in their work. But I could feel their eyes on me—a mixture of pity, glee, and indifference. My phone buzzed. It was Jessica. Done yet? I’m downstairs. I’ll take you out for a celebratory feast. Welcome to your new life! I typed back: Thompson is making me work a one-month notice period. Her call came instantly. “What? Are you kidding me? You know what he’s going to do, right? He’s going to squeeze every last drop of blood out of you for the next thirty days.” I knew. But knowing and being able to do something about it were two different things. “Jessie, I…” “What are you waiting for?” she demanded. “I told you, I’m backing you! You’re going to start your own company! You’ll be his boss! What are you afraid of?”