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The Life-Changing Magic of No Longer Being a Wife
Sometimes you don’t realize how shitty a job is until you leave it
I once tended bar for two months at a fancy Italian restaurant and hated every minute of it. My manager was named Esther, but I secretly referred to her as Evil Esther because she was. Whenever she approached, the insistent, self-important click of her high heels echoed against the restaurant’s marble floors, which at least granted me a few moments to mentally prepare for everything she was about to tell me I was doing wrong.
In Esther’s defense, I was doing quite a bit wrong. At the time, my alcoholic beverage of preference was Pabst Blue Ribbon, and I had no interest in fancy Italian wine. Nor could I afford to develop one. I exhibited no grace while uncorking the bottles and gave customers blank stares when they asked about recommended food pairings, or which wines were oak aged, or how I would describe the mouthfeel. B.S. has never been my strong suit.
I spent two months dragging myself to a job I hated. Then one day, about halfway through my shift, I decided I just wasn’t going to come back. I’ll never forget the feeling when I took off my apron at the end of the night, clocked out, and simply walked away. It was like a rock had been dislodged from my chest. Over the last few months, I’d simply…
