My last day of work.
Once at The Clubhouse, it was business as usual. By that, I mean I spammed about 30 “Good Mornting” posts all over Facebook. They make me so happy. Connor even made one of me today. It’s precious. How ridiculous that the whole “Good Mornting” trend was nothing more than the result of my complete boredom at work every morning. That kind of Facebook activity also reminds people that I exist. An unexpected, yet added bonus for sure.
While Big Bird was running late this morning, Lawrence walked by our office. Seeing me sitting alone, he knocked on the door.
“It’s your last day today,” Lawrence moaned. “Do you have time to talk?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Just let me know when.”
A couple of hours later – in addition to over 78 Facebook notifications – I had my official exit interview with Lawrence. We talked for over an hour. I think. Our meeting was so long, I lost track of time. Although I was constructive with my commentary, I was also brutally honest about everything – and everyone – at The Clubhouse.
Lawrence’s jaw was on his damn desk the entire time we talked. His face went white with shock multiple times. The bossman couldn’t believe what I was telling him. According to Lawrence, I was the first employee to ever deliver such a clear, concise, and honest review of the inner workings of The Clubhouse. Strange. Lawrence enjoyed my honesty so much, he even asked me to email him if I thought of anything else.
Closing out the interview, Lawrence had some incredibly nice things to say about both my personality and my work habits:
“Your time here brought a new sense of operation, stability, and creativity to the entire club. You will be truly missed, Kurt.”
Was this guy for real? What Lawrence said was shocking to hear. Let’s be honest. I really put the minimum effort into just about everything I did during my seven months at The Clubhouse. Yet somehow, Lawrence was impressed with me? I knew I liked him. By the way, I ripped into Stella. Bitch, you crossed me one too many times. I wasn’t about to let that Bride of Satan off the hook. You’ll pay, you fucking cunt!
Naturally, Big Bird had a thousand questions to ask about my exit interview with Lawrence. While we ate lunch at the club’s restaurant – Big Bird’s treat – she certainly didn’t hold back. The whole thing was very awkward, not to mention slightly inappropriate of Big Bird. If I declined to answer a question, she would automatically assume I spoke badly about her. On the contrary, everything I said about Big Bird in my interview was very fair. Not only was I honest, but I also stood up for her a number of times. I made a point to call out the extra bullshit we were constantly forced to deal with, no thanks to the wide assortment incompetent shit heads that work in the building. For the record, the burger I ate at lunch had me feeling sick for the rest of the day.
Back in my office, I began wrapping up the hundred loose ends I was about to jump ship on. After working on a few items, Big Bird wanted to conduct her own exit interview with me. Although I tried to be honest with Big Bird about some of her ineffective – or just plain bad – habits, she didn’t want to accept anything I had to say.
“The way you think about work and life is very unrealistic,” Big Bird said.
No, bitch. You have serious problems. That is why I am leaving. You’re fucking insane. If you’re going to deny all of your problems, why did you bother conducting this interview in the first place? Big Bird gave me a very sweet resignation/Christmas gift and wished me well.
During both of my exit interviews, I couldn’t stop thinking about how crazy my whole lie was just to quit a damn job. Everyone at The Clubhouse thinks I’m moving to California for some tech contract with The Walt Disney Company. In reality, I simply couldn’t stand to be at my desk another minute longer.
I opened the card Big Bird gave me. There was a very nice note written inside. Big Bird also wished me all the best for my future in California. I laughed. See ya! Knowing full well that I will see them again in the New Year, I delivered my genuine goodbyes to Emma and Lucy before grabbing my bag and exiting stage left. That’s a wrap, Clubhouse!
Following a pit stop at the Hilton, I raced around town for some booze and gifts to bring with me to New York City. From there, I packed up my hotel room and began my schlep to the airport. Everything was fairly seamless. Transit was smooth, I checked in with ease, and boarded my flight without any trouble. We were supposed to leave at 9 p.m., but I fell asleep before we took off. When I woke up around 10:30 p.m., I thought we had landed at Newark. Nope. We were still on the tarmac in Toronto. Shit. By the time I arrived at Aaron’s apartment near Central Park, it was 1:30 a.m. What a fucking joke.
Are you ready for the kicker in all of this? Aaron’s new apartment is located beside the building where I met Logan last year. As soon as I turned the corner, I noticed the Christmas lights hanging above the street. My stomach started to tie itself in knots. Everything came rushing back. I mean, come on! What are fucking odds that in all of New York City, this was the street I ended up staying on exactly one year after the night that completely changed my life? It’s insane.
Aaron’s new husband, Sonny, had arrived at the apartment just before me. Sonny is a drag performer, so he was still in full hair and makeup. I felt bad intruding on their space when he was trying to change, but Sonny was really nice. The dynamic between the couple does seem quite strange to me – at times slightly juvenile – but I don’t want to get into my negative and judgmental headspace already. Let’s just drop it, and mind our own fucking business. What a concept!
It’s Christmas. I’m in New York City. I have a free place to stay. This is incredible. I just hope to God that I don’t snore tonight. While I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, I heard Aaron whisper to Sonny, “Kurt snores.”
Listen. I know there’s nothing worse than a loud sleeper. I can’t help it, though! Right now, it’s almost 3 a.m. I need to pass out. They have a dog. Lordt help me, they have a fucking dog. A mangy, nasty little runt. Never in my life have I felt more like Cruella De Vil. I should have brought my lint roller. Damn it.
Looking out the window at the Christmas lights hanging above the street.
Ironic how those same lights brought such darkness into my life a year ago.