Quit Job Narrative

The first thing you felt was the softness of something beneath you, and the warmness of what you assumed was sunlight on your tan skin. Sitting up very slowly, you examined the space around you to find what was so soft below your outstretched legs. Golden flowers grew out of the cracked stone ground, shining a yellowish hue that seemed to make them even more beautiful than they already were. The sunlight that lit up part of the room you were currently residing in came from a distant hole in the rocky roof hanging high above you. Groggily, you stood up.

I was a passenger in the backseat of our family vehicle. The small bumps in the pavement lulled me to a place of perfect repose. As we looked outside our windows we could see the sky painting a magnificent show for us. The sun was going down, but the heavens were brighter and more astounding than I had ever seen them before. It was as if someone had set the clouds alight with raging wildfires and splashes of pink and purple scattered about. I never wanted it to end, but the sky had other plans. The masterpiece before us began to recede into darkness as the nighttime engulfed the sun and put daytime to

Anyways, I was to work in a canning factory, “18/7”, in hazardous work conditions where I got scraped, bruised, and cut for at least ½ of the time I was working there. Subsequently, I wished every night and prayed so hard (I thought I would never fall asleep) for there to be a better job for me to snatch. “Please, please give me a better job!!” I’d say every night with exaggerated boldness and force in my words.

The sun was in the sky and it seemed to be the middle of the day. How could this happen? I checked my phone to see what it said. “4:00 p.m., November 9th,” I gasped in disbelief. This probably meant that I had my job back again! I happily walked through the crowds to my office, but I noticed that I was getting a lot of dirty looks. When I entered the office I was taken aback. Instead of being filled with mainly men, the office was made up of mostly women. A stern looking woman walked up to me. “You must be Evan,” she declared “Congratulations on your new job, we don’t really get a lot of good men that apply if you know what I mean.” As she led me through the lobby I heard many remarks “Hey sweet face,” snared a woman to my left. I heard roaring laughter arise from everyone. Suddenly, I felt extremely uncomfortable. “Is this what it’s always been like for women?’ I asked myself as I made my way up the stairs. I still heard muffled whispers from downstairs “He probably just got hired for his pretty face, men don’t have talent.” I overheard. All of the sudden, I didn’t want to be there anymore. Why would I want to work somewhere where I was criticized because of my

In last manager’s meeting you asked us to share good stories, not just bad ones. There are many, so it is hard to pick . Here is one that happened recently…

I waited in anticipation for the line of people ahead of me to slowly shorten. When we finally arrived at the front of the line, the room seemed to be spinning, and I felt like I was going to pass out. Hoping this feeling would pass soon, I leaned on the desk.

The rugged sea of the lawn illuminated the brisk zephyrs dancing. I saw each individual blade of grass flickering in the summer breezes. It was simple to watch specific pieces of grass because each one boasted a unique tint of green, a quintillion shades of green. The sky was as marvelous as ever. Colors that I could never begin to imagine were spattered, splashed, and speckled on the sky as if God himself held the palate in front of the empyrean canvas. It appeared as if the luminous sunset was a minuscule example of what heaven looked like. A mellifluous range of sounds could be heard. Cicadas buzzed, birds sang, and dogs barked.

The lake darkens as the ominous clouds race across the sky, as black as the devil’s soul, and swallows the bliss-blue complexion of the sky faster than you can blink. The world has abruptly become cellar-dark and the heavens above look to collapse down upon me. A deafening wind runs over the landscape like a thousand horses, the noise of the raindrops their clattering hoofs. The threatening force of the gales knocks and blows the trees in precarious ways, almost as though, if it had wanted to, the wind could blow them away as if they were but feathers, not heavy pines. Lighting lights up the sky like liquid, golden ore streaks being forged into forks up above. Wriggling and writhing with the pain of their own existence. Flashing once, twice, three times, polished and glossy like the cold prongs of the apocalypse. Shaking myself from my weather-caused trance, I hurry for shelter under a nearby fern tree. Staring deep into the blackness of the storm I wonder whether I will ever see that bliss-blue appearance

The night before had brought a starless night with rain, but daybreak cracked through on a promising Saturday morning. The sky awoke with clouds dissipating. Hues of indigo beckoned the light between the black sky and the blue. Fog clung to the rolling hills while the varnished sun lit up the fields. In the distance, a faint sound rumbled over the quiet wisps still hanging in the air.

A 27-year-old man named John came to see me with the following litany of complaints, "I've reached a point where I can't go on....Got no fight left in me. And not enough guts to end it here. Best damn job I ever had almost can see

When workers bring up their boss in conversation, words like intimidating or hard-nosed might be tossed around. Also, any good employee knows to look busy when their boss is around and to be on their best behavior. Bartleby, in Bartleby The Scrivener did not abide by these office rules many of us follow. Bartleby was a scrivener for a law office on Wall Street. In the beginning days of Bartleby’s new job as a copier, he exceled greatly surpassing his fellow co-workers. This inspirational work ethic soon turned sour when Bartleby refused to do any work at all around the office. Lack of discipline from the boss of the law office turned Bartleby’s “I would prefer not to” into a much larger problem. The boss being such a pushover

One sunny spring day, Rachel arrived home from a long day of school. As she set down her backpack, she casually walked to the kitchen to begin preparing a snack. When she was opening the cabinet door she saw an odd looking light coming from the kitchen window. She also heard a small bang and the neighbor’s dogs begin to bark. She thought to herself what the light and noise could have been. It was too bright to be headlights from the neighbor's car or really anything else. Rachel slowly approached the door to her backyard, slightly afraid of when she will find outside.

The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.

A chilled breeze caused my hair to stand up on end, so I peek over my shoulder to see the window in my bedroom door open. The blue, polka-dotted whipped around violently but I couldn 't hear the sounds of a strong wind. Huh, could have sworn I 'd closed that. . . I spring to my feet and shiver as I step across the cold floor toward my room. On my tip-toes, I pull the screen down to shut it and take a minute to stare out the window. The moon cast a dim light over the small town, illuminating only the fronts of houses and the tip of trees, abandoning all else to darkness. A light fog danced in the distance and I smiled thinking how perfect it looked on Halloween 's night. I looked down from the top floor one last time then tugged the curtains shut.

The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.