I can't even quit my job the right way!

Yes, it's true. I convinced another insurance company to hire me. As I had noted in a past blog when starting a new job: "Looks like I'll be over-estimating my accomplishments again this year." Basically, I'm not qualified to do 100% of the workload at this new place. But you know what? I'm not overly concerned, because you can train a monkey to do my job. Of course, you also run the risk of said monkey freaking out one day and ripping your friend's face off, only to be shot and killed by police. It's another reason I hate monkeys.

What?

So back to this bullshit about trying to quit my job. I'm going to a competing company. I really thought when I gave notice yesterday, I'd be sent home on the spot (that's usually how this Corporate America crap works). Boy, did I miscalculate. I'm into Day 2 of my last two weeks of work. I emailed my HR guy today and asked him if my new employer was considered a competitor. His response (and I quote): "I guess not..." Yeah? I guess you're also an idiot.

So here I am, stuck working with Creepy Ball-Grabber guy, counting down the minutes until I can get out of here. We had a snow storm yesterday and he got in late. I took the opportunity to take a picture of the creepy-ass sticker on his office phone (which you can see here). What a weirdo. No doubt he will wear my skin if given the opportunity.

I haven't told anyone in my office that I'm leaving. I have no plans to, either. It's not like I made friends while I've been here. This is what I work with:

Debi: You live with 13 dogs and I've seen you in the ladies room: You don't wash your hands. It's called soap. Don't touch me.

Tom: It's been all about you and your balls. I hope you pay too much money for a diseased hooker in Atantic City and catch some rare, nasty STD that nuclear warheads can't destroy.

Linda: You're 70 years old. I should smack you for having Sponge Bob Squarepants figurines on your desk. You eat lunch at the free food-tasting tables in grocery stores. It's triple coupon day. Go.

Courtney: You're morbidly obese. You're a liar. Let me tell you a few things: You don't have a husband, you don't have friends and you never had a pet lobster. Lose some weight and go to counseling. And no, I will not go to Five Guys with you for lunch.

Yes, I'm sure these feelings are mutual and the thing is, I don't even care. For the past year I've come to work every day, sat in a cube and worked for 8 hours. When I did try reaching out to my coworkers in the first few months, I couldn't help but notice they were either not interested, burned out, busy grabbing their junk or at least 30 years older than me.

My "Office Space" workdays are soon to be over. I hope I can last that long.