It's been a week since I left coffee and I'm still in a bit of disbelief. After a month of working both jobs, I got a full-time offer at the restaurant. I accepted immediately. The 60 hours a week were wearing on me fast and I just wanted it to end.
So I did it. I put in my two weeks. The thing I had been dreading turned out not to be so hard after all. Even as I desperately wanted to find a new job, I was always afraid of my last two weeks. I was worried I'd get a sudden demotion, that I would be treated differently. But when I talked to my manager behind the shop, I was excited. I walked back into the shop feeling a huge sense of relief. Working didn't really get easier during my last eight shifts, but it didn't get any worse either.
There is a strange spotlight that comes with moving on. Suddenly I had big news to tell everyone, and it wasn't just my news. My leaving was something that was going to effect everyone; regulars said they would miss me, and I'm sure some of my fellow barista were wondering who, if anyone, would take over my role in the café.
A couple guests brought me some sweet parting gifts, and I invited everyone out to celebrate. I had a great time that night. Not just at our usual spot but at the bars we went to after too. There was a fresh energy that I had been yearning for and am reveling in.
As I continue to come to terms with the end of my employment there, my biggest worry is that nostalgia is going to get the best of me. Am I going to embellish how much fun I had? Am I going to forget that towards the end, we weren't going out like we used to, we weren't feeling the same thrill. Or will I become convinced that I had it better as a barista than I will anywhere else? That the systems and benefits there cannot be beat?
I hope not. I know these things aren't true now and I'll do my best not to forget it.