Coming up to this week, I still didn’t know whether my contract was being extended and, after 18 months, I still hadn’t been offered permanent employee status. Fed up with the constant uncertainty, I decided that, screw it, I had had enough. Fuck ’em, I wasn’t going to continue in this vein.
So, Tuesday, during a meeting, where we were discussing what to do for the next several weeks, I interrupted the proceedings to tell them that Friday (today) was going to be my last day. No jobs in the pipeline or anything, I had just had enough. Well, needless to say, the fecal matter hit the ventilation system. How can you do this?, it’s not professional, yada yada. Whatever, is my reaction, I gave you four more days’ notice than I’ve ever been given.
There’s back and forth between the company where I work and the placement office, discussions with the person in charge here, some arm-twisting and bridge rebuilding, and finally (because I’m such milquetoast) I agree to stay on. I’m told that, for some weird reason that can’t be explained to me, I can’t be offered permanent status, for the time being. I accept because, hey, it’s better to have a job than not have one.
Come in yesterday, only to find that the company has been sold to some other company, with much deeper pockets.
So, to recap, I resign Tuesday, am convinced to stay on Wednesday, and having a celebratory meal downtown with the rest of the company on Thursday.