I drove into my last day of work today in tears because no one had offered to throw me a goodbye party.
This is how it’s always been, though. People are glad I exist in theory, but there rarely seems to be a strong connection. I guess it’s true on my end, too; it takes me a long time to feel close. But I want that connection. I want people to think of me.
I’m a Hufflepuff. I’m the prodigal son’s brother. I’m the one quietly working in the background, with occasional one-on-one recognition but invisible to the world at large. If I want a party, I have to throw it myself, and hardly anyone will come.
I had a similar experience at my last job – short version, the boss and I couldn’t stand each other, and when I put in my notice, they paid me my last two weeks without me having to work them – but the boss tried to make it appear I’d been fired, evidently. He scared away quite a few people from joining me at my going away celebration. I was so happy to leave though that I didn’t care too much.