Greatest Resignation Letter Of All Time.

I'm quitting my retail job tomorrow. Yeah, I had a job. But only for three weeks. Just like school, I'm too cool for jobs. Actually, it's secretly depressing (well, not-so-secret anymore) that this job only lasted three weeks. I've been drowning my sadness in lots of ice cream. So, actually, it isn't so bad after all. And now I have all this extra time to eat ice cream.

I thought Aritzia would be a cool place to work. I mean, they have winged cats flying around in their windows. Any place with winged cats has to be awesome, right?

Wrong.

Instead of going on an on about how much I disliked working there, I thought I'd share with you the Pretend Resignation Letter I wrote. "Pretend" in that I will not actually hand it in; it's actually a real letter. You can see evidence of it's realness below. Maybe Secret Resignation Letter would be a better name. Or maybe I should just hand it in so I can rename it the Greatest Resignation Letter Of All Time. Hmm.

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing in order to inform you that I am resigning as a Sales Associate at Aritzia Sherway Gardens. My last day of work will be Wednesday, October 20, 2010. Yes, today.  

I would like to express my sincere appreciation at having been given the opportunity to work at Aritzia, even though just for a short time. After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that I am just not the right fit for Aritzia. It was a surprise to me too--don’t worry. I mean, I’m so awesome . . . but sometimes awesomeness just isn’t enough.

Firstly, I just don’t think I am clever enough to be a good Aritzia employee. For example: during both of my interviews, I said that I would be out of town from October 23 to November 1^st. I was up-front with this information because honesty is always the best policy. (Except this one time that I drank the last of my brother’s chocolate milk and he was really angry so I blamed it on my mom.) When I told both the store manager and district manager about being out of town, they wrote down the dates, nodded, and said “okay”. I took this to mean that the time off had been authorized. Silly me. It turns out that there is a special form you have to fill out that I didn’t think to ask about because I didn't know it existed. So when my name was put on the schedule to work while I was away, I only had myself to blame.

As well, I used to think I was a good multi-tasker, but it turns out I am not. I thought being able to accomplish two tasks at once was impressive, but I’ve learned at Aritzia that it isn’t about accomplishing tasks: it’s about keeping busy with as many things as possible. Sometimes up to five. Here I’ve been thinking that there is value in seeing a task through from start to finish, but it turns out that is not the case.

From my past retail experience, I had been trained to think that everything from maintaining to re-stocking to getting new shipment out on the floor to doing security checks to customer service was an important part of a successful retail store. Now I know that the most important thing is sales goals.

I will admit that I am not the best sales person—in fact, I suck—so it was a relief to hear that Aritzia employees didn’t work on commission. And anyway, I know that I would only want to achieve my sales goals for the simple satisfaction and peer respect instead of money. “Why would anyone want a monetary reward for their sales achievements?” is what I always say. It’s so good that Aritzia has its priorities sorted.

I thought that maybe my other retail skills would be valued at Aritzia, but I soon realized how this was a foolish thought. And I think you feel the same way as I do about me not being a good fit: in less than two weeks of employment, my hours were being drastically cut. (And I hadn’t even been properly trained yet!)

But, I really do have to commend you on being able to see how expendable I was in such a short amount of time. If you hadn’t judged me with such a lack of regard, I might have never figured it out myself. So, thank you.

All in all, I think we can both agree that parting ways is for the best. Thank you again for the opportunity. And the jacket--it’s really nice.

Cheers,

S.

Tomorrow will be my last shift. I will have to fight the urge to run around the store high-fiving everyone from the sheer joy of it all.

I Just Quit Five!

Brother.

While going through old family photos last night, I came to realize something startling: Brother hated being photographed with me. At first, I thought he just didn't enjoy having his picture taken. But then I found this evidence that suggested otherwise:

This is Brother. See, he is a suave young gentleman. Look at how suavely his hands are folded in his lap. And now, look at this:

When I am introduced into the photograph, Brother sours. He is no longer suave and inviting. He is sad and dejected. Why? Probably because I'm so pink and awesome. Seriously. Has there ever been a more color coordinated girl? I don't think so. Even my slinky matches. And, clearly, I'm really pleased by all my pinkness.

And it makes Brother sad.

Now, you might be thinking that it is just a fluke. But, o-ho-ho, I figured you'd be all doubting. So I've complied some more photographs.

In the first picture, Brother is sitting in his favourite wicker chair. His hair is slicked, he's wearing his favourite blue robe, and he has an ice cream cone. Life is good. He is happy. In the second picture, despite the fact that we are both enjoying a tasty snack of cereal straight from the box, Brother looks upset. Could it be because he has Smacks and I have Apple Jacks? Actually, possibly. Becaues Apple Jacks are freaking delicious. But also, it's because I'm in the photograph. And my red coat and matching red shoes are quite fetching.

Here we see Brother again looking upset by my presence in the picture. Not even his Ninja Turtles are a match for my pom-pom dress and casual pose, and this is evident in his face. Poor brother.

Here we are in the wilds of Newfoundland, building a snowman with Father. Notice Brother in the foreground, looking incredibly put off. Let's go in for a close up just to make sure:

Eyup. That is one unhappy Brother.

In this photograph, his annoyance has turned to anger. I'm pretty sure he is plotting my death. Obviously he didn't succeed. I think.

I sort of feel bad for stealing all of Brother's picture thunder. Actually, no I don't. I asked him if he hated me when he was little and he assured me that he didn't. He said, "Sister, I loved you more than anything in the world. More than my Ninja Turtle playing cards. I loved your flamboyant outfits and uncanny knack of always being the focal point of any picture we were in together."

Okay, so maybe that isn't exactly what he said.

Okay, so maybe I never even asked him.

But he obviously didn't hate me. Pfft. Maybe he hated all the pink I wore all the time. It probably hurt his eyes, now that I think of it. Maybe that's why he always looked a little sick. Huh.

Besides, he still has this jem all for himself:

It's like he's saying, "Oh hai there. I'm just organizing my Ninja Turtle trading cards. Would you like to sit and stay a while?"

For My Biographer

Today marks an important day in history. Take a moment now to commit this day--the 5th of October in the year 2011--to your memories, for today is the day that I finished watching How I Met Your Mother in it's entirety in under two weeks.

That's right. Five full seasons and the start of season six. 115 episodes. 45 hours. A lot of minutes.

45 hours of pure legen--wait for it--dary awesomeness.

Here's a chart to visually display how I spent the last ten days:

I chose to only include other activities that I couldn't do while watching HIMYM. This is why 'eating' is not a bar on the bar graph. I spend a lot of hours eating, most of which I did while watchin HIMYM. Multi-tasking: it's important. Sleeping is also important. I might spend too much time sleeping, but that brings me to my next point: I didn't have a job last week. This also explains the minimal hours devoted to "work". I might have also counted "doing the dishes" as work.

Obviously there are many more hours than what I've represented on the above bar graph, but I can't remember what I did. Clearly, it wasn't as important as eating, sleeping or watching HIMYM.

Because making graphs is fun, here's another one:

This line graph shows how my percentage of awesome has increased with each episode watched. My awesome level was already pretty high to begin with (that goes without saying, but I wanted to say it anyway), and it's only further increased.

Now I'm almost too awesome for daily consumption. I'm sort of like that really expensive desert that Serendipity serves. Yes. I'm served in a gold plated dish and covered in expensive dessert cavier. Om. Nom. Nom.

Anyway.

I have no idea why I only just started watching this show last week. Because it's really [one of] the best show[s] in the entire world (other shows being: Arrested Development, Gossip Girl, Alias, Mad Men and Frasier).

I was trying to compile a list of my favourite episodes or moments, but it's just too hard. Between Robin Sparkles and Slapsgiving; from the misadventures of Swarley and Teddy Westside and Vanilla Thunder to figuring out what the difference between peanut butter and jam is; the challenges, the interventions, the high fives . . . it's all too good.

I am rather fond of Barney's video resume, as it reminds me of that hilarious video resume that plagued the internet a few years back. Remember the douchery? And then Michael Cera spoofed it and it was glorious.

Possimpible
Impossible is Nothing
Impossible is the Opposite of Possible:




And I'm -this- (yes, I'm holding my fingers really, really, really close together) close to having Let's Go To The Mall completely memorized. I'm also incredibly anxious to see what the short lived Canadian variety show that Robin Sparkles and Alan Thicke starred in together was like.

Okay, I'm off to make more charts of things and to write letters to my future self.

Also, I want to have an intervention. Who needs intervening with something?

Huzzah!