So I only went and bloody did it. Notice handed in. End of corporate torture.

What now?

I now have till the end of the month to suffer more banal office chat. Just a few days left of  witnessing the continual brown-nosing of the business development team towards the big dog director and avoiding creepy sex-harassment guy. Less than a month of  watching hugely-intelligent girl make a mockery of herself  as she panders to a male colleague who treats her like an office gimp. Cannot wait.

Upon handing in my resignation letter, the sense of relief was immense- a cross between a hit of crystal meth and a really big jam donut. Just delightful.

Initially though, I couldn’t even do it. My line manager (who is lovely but is as emotional as an emoticon) was too busy to speak to me. I said it was urgent. He may or may not have blinked, hard to tell when he was unable to avert his eyes from the screen. The powerful spreadsheet was so engrossing that even if my hair had been on fire and my eyes were crying tears of blood he could not look away from the numbers. (Side note: This is a lovely man, super super sweet. But he lives and breathes work. He took his laptop on his family holiday to an amusement park, he had one day off and spent till 3pm sending emails, he doesn’t eat lunch till after 4pm, his small freckled bottom is superglued to his chair).

Of course big dog took the news in his stride. When he first heard he ignored me for three days. He went round to each team member, shook their hands, slapped their backs, made sure everyone knew he loved them and ignored me. The next day he asked if we could have a catch up after lunch, I agreed, he went home. The day afterwards, whilst on his back-slapping, man-hugging journey around the office, he told me I looked like his ex-wife. He said I was giving him the look she did when she wanted something. I said it was just my face and that his ex-wife must have been very attractive (ok, this is a lie, I thought of this amazing comeback about ten minutes afterwards)

Finally big dog (small penis?) called me in a for meeting. He said it was good I had resigned as I had saved him the trouble and was saving the team operational costs. So nice to be appreciated. He talked about how great he was and that he still ‘loved me baby’. I held in  a snort of laughter and politely stated it had always been clear he had a problem with me. He then insinuated I wasn’t important enough for him to dislike. Ooh there’s nothing like a testosterone-covered helping  of passive aggressiveness  with your afternoon Nescafe.

The alpha male is such a strange creature.

Funnily enough, last week, there was call for me to work one-to-one with the big dog himself. He told me he wanted me to know the inner workings of his mind, to see the world like he saw it. I choked on my vomit and proceeded to our meeting room.

At the end of the afternoon he commented that had he taken the time to get to know me he probably would have liked me, I was “actually” quite funny and that I appeared to be quite intelligent. No shit Sherlock. I’m epic (again I said this in my head). High praise indeed.

So anyway, that’s it. My time in the awful awful shiny box is coming to an end. No longer do I have to swipe in and out of every bastard door. No longer do I have to avoid high-fiving jackasses. No longer do I have to watch my mouth when chatting in the loo in case the CEO’s evil PA goes back and tells him what I said (true story, she actually told him I didn’t have much work to do and our team hadn’t hit budget…..all information gleaned whilst she was urinating, multitasking at its best).

I can throw away my polyester shirts, rip up my orange skin-coloured tights and won’t have to draw on my eyebrows every morning at 7.45am (although I will still have to do this later on  in the day due to the alarming number of white hairs). I can stop all the nonsense.

As well as throwing away all the awfulness, I am however discarding stability and turning my back on conventional routine (ie. wake up, get dressed, go to work, eat a sandwich, come home, eat dinner, go to bed). This is slightly scary. This also means that I am going to have to come up with new subjects to write about here… Use my brain? Not moan about the weirdos I work with? EEEEEEEEKKKKK. What else is there? Will I actually have to get a proper life?

So there you have it. The corporate whore is whore no more. The big dog will stay barking and the office hierarchy will remain in tact without my disruptive force trying to topple it over.

Goodbye pay cheque. Farewell leek and potato Wednesday. Goodbye lady who is obsessed with watering the one plant we have in the office. Au revoir the 11am fire alarm test that goes on for too long and makes me jump out of my seat. Onto the next phase. This is going to be interesting/hairy/lonely/terrifying/any other conflicted adjective you can find.