Every one is a setting sun

I quit my serving job on Saturday. Somewhere during the beginning of the shift, I realized I couldn't possibly do this even one more time.

Like breaking up with a boy, quitting a job requires some forethought. There is no reason for both parties to be put out by a necessary event. At the end of the night, I did all my sidework quickly and efficiently. At the end of the night when the cooks put out the food they can't resell, I ate some and doggy-bagged some. I gathered all of my belongings in case a hasty flight became necessary, and finally I calmly told my boss that I wasn't good enough for the job. "It's me, not the job," I said, "I'm not experienced enough for the challenges that this type of thing presents. I'm sorry, but this best for both of us. I want to thank you for all the opportunities and good times you've given me." As I walked to my car, I turned around to whisper, "And fuck you for all the dumb shit you gave me, too."

Damn, it feels good to be a ganster.