Maybe you, like me, have spent many afternoons fantasizing about quitting your job. You’ve pictured yourself walking into your boss’s office, closing the door to signal this is an “important meeting,” and telling him in no uncertain terms to stick it.
Guess what?
I did it (minus the “stick it” part).
Two weeks ago, I left my job.
You may be disappointed to learn that it does not feel as triumphant as you’re imagining. For me, at least, it felt more like that moment when you’re trying to decide if you should run to the bathroom or sit very still and hold in the barf.
Earlier this year, Deserae and I started selling on Amazon. We would buy things cheap from the store or manufacturer, put them all in a box, send them to the Amazon warehouse, and let them take care of the rest. Right away, it started going better than expected. In just a few months, I was making more than I was at my full-time job. We started talking about me leaving my job at some point, maybe next year, then possibly September, then how about just put in my two-week notice next Monday?
So that’s what I did. A month ago, I put in my two-week notice, got congratulated by my boss, ate goodbye donuts, then suddenly found myself unemployed. Over the next few weeks, I’ll write more about the business, explain how I got here and share some of the unfortunate turns we took along the way. For now, though, here are a few observations from my first days as a nervously unemployed man.
People Have a Lot of Opinions
I imagine announcing that you’ve quit your job gets a pretty similar reaction to telling people that you’ve enlisted. Everybody’s very happy for your dream to work for yourself or become a Navy SEAL some day, but when you tell people you’ve actually joined the Navy, the reaction is pretty much, “you’re going to die.”
Like the new recruit, you learn that you could spend a half hour acknowledging that things could go poorly, demonstrating that you’ve put a lot of thought into this decision and explaining why this makes a lot of sense right now, but you’re usually better off nodding and saying something like, “Just hope I don’t get blowed up!”
Other opinions that have been shared with me include:
“Huh. Did you go to college?” – The air conditioner repairman
*Squint* “I don’t think this is legal.” – Cashier
“Excuse me, do you work here?” – 25 different people at Wal-Mart
I’m Not as Good at Being an Adult as I Thought
I’ve always prided myself on my solid eating habits – breakfast, lunch and dinner right on schedule. I’d also made a habit of saving money by packing a lunch every day – one sandwich, two pieces of fruit, chips and a dessert.
Without a schedule at home, however, things have begun to fall apart. My first day at home started off strong when I grilled myself a burger. The second, I forgot to eat breakfast and made myself a PB&J. Today, I ate a piece of peanut butter toast over the sink at 2 p.m.
No Work=No Money
I knew I would have to work hard to make the Amazon business successful, but I secretly kind of thought my first day at home would go like this:
When I woke up on that first Monday, however, I got out of bed in a panic. It hit me that I would no longer receive money for doing things like stretching out my lunch to finish a super long article. Because of that, I’ve worked harder and longer in the last two weeks than I ever did when I had an “actual job.” I’ve started keeping to-do lists, installing extensions that limit my social media time and unplugging my Internet to force myself to do things like finish this blog.
Stuff Happens Between 9 and 5
Judging by the rush hour commute, I always just kind of assumed that 75% of Cleveland spends 9 to 5 in an office downtown. Not so! There’s a whole world out there during the day. During a recent weekday morning, I learned about the weekday crowds at:
Wal-Mart: When you walk into a Wal-Mart, you know you’re walking into a wasteland. I’m no Wal-Mart snob – I go there a few times a week – but I think even Sam Walton would have admitted, “Yeah, our stores are pretty much giant, steaming dumps.”
Anyways, when I visited Monday morning, I was surprised to learn that the inhabitants of this wasteland are not just the meatball-stained sweatpants crowd I had come to know and love. All my greasy friends had gone to bed and been replaced by crabby 80-year-olds with one question:
“Do you work here?”
“Sorry, I don’t.”
Suspicious look.
“Because someone spilled something sticky right here.”
“Yikes.”
More staring.
“Well SOMEONE needs to mop it up.”
B.A. Sweetie: B.A. Sweetie is a giant candy store with great wholesale prices. I went one time with Deserae on a Saturday, and we found lots of candy to sell on Amazon. I went back on Monday morning and found lots of kids. Like sooooooo many kids.
“You said we could get a big gummy, and this is only a little gummy!”
“Jel-ly-beans! Jel-ly-beans! Jel-ly-beans!”
“Do you work here?”
Spend a Day in the Candy Store turns out to be a solid option for parents who’ve run out of summer activities by the end of June.
Modern Parts House: The Modern Parts House is neither modern nor a house. It’s an appliance store that has been around for 100 years and run by crotchety people. The Modern Parts House displays a dozen signs around the counter. Six of them say “All Sales Are FINAL” and rest are all basically variations of the one that says “Thou Shalt Not Whine.”
These signs are for the Saturday and Sunday crowd. On Monday, I was surrounded by the weekday crowd – plumbers and repairmen and guys with greasy jeans. The weekday crowd knows the deal. They ordered their parts like they were ordering from the Soup Nazi.
When my turn came, I stepped to the counter and fumbled with my note.
“My dryer needs a new motor, and I have the serial…”
The lady behind the counter took the note out of my hand and went to the back. Two minutes later she came back.
“It’ll be in tomorrow. $129.75.”
“OK.”
“No refunds.”
“OK.”
She pauses and points to the “All Sales Are FINAL” sign.
“No refunds.”
The weekday crowd stared at me suspiciously. Nobody asked if I worked there.
LIFE LESSON #74
People expect you to work SOMEWHERE.