Sunday, December 13, 2009

Job at the school esta morte. ("is dead," Portuguese style)

Old news is old.

I quit my job at the school.

To keep a long story short, my boss's mother got sick so she had to go home to Massachusetts to take care of her shortly after I had finally returned back to work. I came down with a cold, and on top of that I was only working 3-4 days a week at the school, 2-3 hours a day. I had this arrangement with my boss before she had even left. My coworkers decided that they didn't like this. I wasn't putting any effort into the job, and instead of talking to me and discovering said arrangement, they all went out of their way to deliberately me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. After dealing with their negative attitudes and trash talking behind my back (which I got confirmation of such when my boss returned to work) for three weeks, I put in my two week notice. My boss was upset. She decided to speak with my coworkers about what they did to me. They were all extremely pleased with themselves. Laughing and saying "About time!" and other such similar rude things. It was that day that I determined my job there was completely over. I had no desire to return except to pick up my final paycheck.

I'm sorry, but last I checked, I wasn't a teenager anymore, so I'm not going to put up with teenage-style drama from my coworkers. They weren't really paying me enough anyway. I was working 6-12 hours a week at the time, making just above minimum wage. It truly wasn't worth the difficulty.

So I severed it off like a dying limb.

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