I Quit My Terrible Job with Nothing Else Lined Up

In December of 2004, I was about to graduate from a quiet, rural state college, with a degree in English. I was excited about the prospect of being admitted to English graduate school the following fall, and I was moving to the home city of the university I wanted to attend.

Except, I had decided only a month before graduation to make this move. Oops. My previous plan had involved a boyfriend I was no longer seeing, so when an opportunity suddenly came up to move in with an old friend, I jumped at it, despite that it would allow me only weeks to find some job, any job, to support myself and my soon-to-be roommate. I was flipping out with anxiety, so I channeled the nervous energy into finding that job quickly.

I drove to the city every weekend, and turned in job applications. Most of them were for stores in an upscale shopping center. My destined apartment building was within a walking distance of less than five minutes. My plan was to get a passable job until graduate school - and once I was in school again, I planned to do what I had to do to get a teacher or research assistantship. I wasn't crazy about the retail option, but I resolved that I wouldn't have to stay in any retail job for very long.

Dozens of applications later, I got a callback from a pricey regional supermarket - and since it was the only callback I recieved at all, I was filled with relief that I was probably not going to starve, after all. The hiring representative for the supermarket nudged me toward the a part-time position in deli-bakery department. I accepted her recommendation, despite my trepidation that I would find slicing deli meat to be a little disgusting. As I began hands-on training with the more experienced employees, I discovered that it was pretty gross to open up packages of bloody roast beef, but I quickly overcame my queasiness in the name of staying employed.

Within two weeks of accepting the job, I was involved in a bad car accident. Fortunately, there were no significant injuries, but my beloved dark green Saturn was destroyed. Instantly, the possibility was significantly diminished that I could get a better job before graduate school, in a position for which I was more qualified. I could only attempt to get work with companies within walking or biking distance. That fact, combined with anxiety over the accident itself, caused me to sink into a deep depression. However, I trudged through, and became very good at my job. It was barely a few months before I was given large amounts of responsibility that had once been the province of employees with other job titles (and better pay). I was exhausted, but looked forward to graduate school, so that the drudgery of this job could come to an end for me.

Things didn't turn out as as I planned. I was in graduate school for only a few weeks when I realized I had terribly misjudged my career calling, and withdrew to apply for programs more applicable to my newly formed career aspirations. In the thrill and renewed excitement of realizing what I wanted to do with my life, I forgot that I was going to be stuck at that confounded deli-bakery for an even longer.

Frustration and unreasonably high stress levels had become a way of life at work, as more and more responsibility was dumped on me by lazy and unscrupulous co-employees. I came home from work incredibly exhausted, and completely emotionally drained. My sleep was suffering, I was breaking out badly, I experienced wild weight fluctuations and nausea, and developed intense muscle cramps in my shoulders, neck, and chest. As for my emotional life, I was amazingly irritable, and my relationship with my roommate was in the pits, to the point where he was threatening to move out if I didn't rejoin the human race. Somehow, I didn't recognize that these are classic symptoms of depression at first, and when I did, I wasn't able to connect my depression with my sky-high, work-related stress levels.

By the time January of 2006 had rolled around, I was running on fumes. My father passed down his old Jeep to me, and I celebrated by immediately beginning the job applications process again. However, I wasn't going about it very thoroughly I couldn't fathom my own motivations for not working harder to get a better job. After I passed the second birthday I'd had since I'd become employed at the deli-bakery, things began to crystalize for me. The kind of stress I was under was not warranted for a low-paying, unrewarding position in a supermarket.

Last week, as I was cleaning meat juice from a metal preparation table, the thought sprung into my head: Is the kind of stress I am going through worth less than $200 a week? For a job that is not based at a charity, or for worthwhile political cause? I instantly knew with utter conviction that it was not. That was the beginning of the end. Two days ago, a customer was loudly rude to me, and to an elderly woman I was waiting on. A common enough experience with retail, but it converted my earlier question into a new form: Do I deserve this kind of abuse, when I work so hard, when am I one of the few people working here who cares at all about doing a good job? Do I deserve to take this abuse for less than $200 a week? It was the breaking point for me - I decided that not only did I not deserve it, but that no one did, and I was getting out.

This morning, I walked in and quit. There are a few formalities left, but I've nailed the coffin shut for sure. All last night and today, I have been following up on avaliable jobs that I knew existed, but was too exhausted to work up the motivation to apply to them. I have enough money to make it for about a month and a half, and I intend to have landed one of these jobs before then.

If you find yourself in a position like mine, you may not wish the make the choice I have made. In fact, if you can hold on, please do. Still, keep in mind that extremely high stress levels are terrible for your physical and mental health, and that choices like mine are valid, and are not irresponsible. You absolutely must take care of yourself, and you must not sacrifice yourself on the altar of other people's misguided notions of responsibility.

I may come to regret it in the next month, as I search for a less-punishing job with even more fervor than I was searching before. But I doubt it. A tremendous weight has been lifted from my mind. Now, onto something better.