I quit my job a week ago today.

It was the second time I�d ever quit a job in my entire life, which probably isn�t too great a record since I�ve only had three real jobs. It was the first one I quit on purpose, if that�s any consolation.

All through high school, I worked at a national pizza chain as a phone answering, pizza making dynamo. When I got to college last fall and left the old store behind, seeking employment at the new location was not really at the top of my priority list, not just because I didn�t have a car.

My impressions of the University Town location of the franchise were initially based on its shoddy appearance. I�ve always been advised against judging a book by its cover, but I tend to find that first impressions are generally accurate. I had occasion to consume food from the store at various times last semester, none of which led to my eventual regurgitation, so there is perhaps something to be said for that.

I finally got up the courage to apply at the local store one particularly pathetic February night while I was having one of my many recent �Oh my God, I�m for real broke� epiphanies. I walked in wearing my company jacket from the high school store, which I�m sure got me some points with the manager. It wasn�t long after that that I was hired.

Like snowflakes, no two stores are exactly the same, whether it�s burgers, pizza, or chicken. I knew this going in, but I wasn�t really prepared for exactly how different this store would be. It didn�t take long to overcome the basic differences in computer systems and store procedures. The food all comes off the same truck, after all, regardless of where it ends up.

The real problem I had was with personnel. I guess I never realized how awesome I had things in high school. The store there boasted an inside staff of something like fifteen and a driving staff at least twice that size, as well as four or so managers of considerable competence. This store had a combined staff of less than fifteen, most all of them unbelievably intolerable. The place was ineffectively managed and the prices were outrageous.

I tried my best to ignore them and do my own work, but they wanted to talk to me and be my friend, which is all well and good until it affects my job performance, and resultantly the customers. Food service, like most industry, is customer driven. Without food orders, there would be no business. Why piss off the people that are really putting money in your pocket?

I wanted to stick it out and show the management that their poor attitudes and leadership were not going to affect my loyalty to the company and its standards. I wanted to produce a quality product and satisfy the customers. I wanted the money, even though it was a dollar less that what I�d been making over the past three years.

But none of that wanted me. After witnessing some particularly egregious violations of the company�s 100% satisfaction guarantee, I confronted one of the managers about the situation. The response I got was lukewarm, but I decided to let the issue die...

...until the next night, when Nut-Meg began her all-too-brief career in the wonderful world of pizza. After playing personal secretary to one particular employee while also trying to handle the actual incoming business, she was accidentally subjected to a lengthy diatribe about her poor phone skills and all-around stupidity as told to other staff members by the manager, all while Meg was well within earshot. Bitches.

That was where I drew the line. The next day I showed up to work and had a conversation with the problem manager about the immediate termination of my employment. I stressed that I was quitting because of her, not because of the work. She took this rather well, but I�m sure it became a diatribe of its own before the end of the night. Oh well.

So I quit. I did it classy at least. And it shouldn�t be too long before I�ve found work again, this time at one of the world�s largest retailers. All we�re waiting for is the swift return my drug-free urine sample and I�ll be ringing up all manner of miscellany at a cash register near you. Ka-ching!

Someone got here by searching for: tissues in my bed room Reading: The school rag. Listening to: The Dr. Joy Browne Show. Watching: Rescue 911. That show was crazy.