I was in the bar at a Cleveland Buffalo Wild Wings when it was time for my 1:1 meeting with Sal, my boss of six years. He squinted at his screen and saw where I was.
"Oh, good. You're already drinking. That'll help. I just quit."
I grabbed my glass and stabbed at it with my finger. "THIS IS ICED TEA, SAL! I FEEL EVERYTHING, SAL!"
In short order, all of his FTE folks bailed from the company. Every one of them was gone in three weeks. I attended a meeting five days ago with the panel of moronic executives who would take ownership of Sal's projects, of which my company is an integral part. They talked about the horrific tasks they would have us perform, all of them desecrations of our earlier work. No one asked if my company would be staying on. They just assumed. I smiled at their arrogant presumption and enjoyed their mindless buzzword-regurgitation far more than I ordinarily would. And then yesterday, when the last of Sal's folks were gone, I sent mail that I was terminating my company's relationship with their company.
Complete pandemonium ensued. Offers were sweetened. Character was assassinated. Threats were implied.
"I choose who I work for," I replied repeatedly. One would think that this is an unassailable argument, but these are corporate executives. I simply do not understand that their baseless assumptions about my plans are law.
It's been six years since I quit a job, six long years. I forgot how much I enjoy it. I was born for this.