Goodbye Money

I quit my job at an anonymous investment company, which I will call Morgan Stanley. The good people there (facetious!) paid me quite well and I had a beautiful office, a nice benefits package, the whole deal. Also, I drove a Z3 convertible and got to wear these beautiful English suits with Johnson & Murphy shoes . But eventually, they used my love of these things to steal my soul and stifle my natural creativity. They accomplished this through subtle and insidious tactics such as giving me promotions and extra responsibilities. The two-hour lunch and post-meal nap gave way to grueling meetings and these things they called "brainstorming sessions."

So I finally confronted my boss and accused him of wrecking my life and trying to steal my soul. He just laughed, saying, "Frank, first of all, you have no life. Second, I worked damn hard to get rid of my own soul. What the hell would I want with yours?" He was very evasive like this, never answering questions directly. 

The pressure and competitiveness of corporate work had left me feeling hollow and empty, which is ironic since I'm quite a few pounds overweight (all the two-hour lunches, I know). And there were other inconsistencies! Like getting free airline tickets and gym club memberships as perks, when I don't fly, and I'm afraid of exercise. I complained on the phone, but they pretended it was a bad connection. I can't be sure, but I think they were crumpling paper near the mouthpiece to imitate static. I called back and they explained that perks were perks and not entitlements: "Frank, give them to someone you like or set them on fire. We don't give a shit. But, if you think you're getting something else, forget it." 

Like I'm entitled. They're the entitled ones! I told them so, pointing my finger of justice, threatening to set their plane tickets on fire in their very office of lies. There's a lot more, but I'll skip to the 911 call and the restraining order part, and how it was a blessing in disguise. House arrest gave me the time I needed to discover my true passion: creative candle making. The pay is poor, and I had to move back in with my mother, but I'm my own boss. At least I am while my mother is watching her shows on TV. Other plusses? I've met some really interesting people, even if they lack the most basic personal hygiene skills and dress in what appears to be brightly colored rags that give me migraines. The candle making community is pretty small, but we're a vibrant bunch! There's been a lot of sharing: of ideas, wax, and sometimes sandwiches. Who knew there were 23 different kinds of hummus? I've also learned that there's so much more to candle making than melting wax and inserting some cotton wicking. For example, there's the part about choosing colors. And the container, which I like to call the vessel. Basically, I can see myself doing this for the rest of my life. 

So goodbye Morgan Stanley, with your beautiful offices filled with polished marble, walnut, and leather. Goodbye to the crisp linen and wool suits, and the oxfords hand-sewn with pigment dyed leathers. And, goodbye to the BMW Z3 convertible. May your seven layers of hand-rubbed lacquer clear coat shine for some other soulless corporate drone. I am a new and improved man with freedom, creativity, and only 75 more hours of community service.