I was 15 minutes late to my last day of work at the Mall of Georgia Barnes & Noble on Saturday, which just felt typical at the point when it happened. Ever since I moved 40 miles or so away from that store, I was never able to get there on time.
Despite the start, though, it was a pretty good day.
They let me do Children's Storytime for the first time ever, and I read a group of one-year-olds two books about pirates, using my "pirate voice" and a wavering British accent. I had to stop the accent when one of the children started crying. Other than that, my reading received a decent amount of praise.
The staff got me a cake and a card for my last day. Since I'd been at the store over four years, I was sorta not-so-secretly hoping that there would be a to-do about me leaving. And they didn't disappoint.
The thing that made me the most happy was, of all things, that my card was signed - with genuine affection - by Christy, Casey and Heather, three people with whom I haven't always had the best working relationship. Over time, things improved greatly as we learned how to work with one another.
The significance of me leaving that bookstore, though I didn't realize it until I was driving away for the last time, is bigger than I thought.
I no longer live in Buford. I no longer work in Buford. I no longer have to commute to Buford. Buford isn't part of my day-to-day existence anymore. It is, as it was five years ago and as it was when I was in college, just the place where my mom lives.
My first shift at the Buckhead store is tonight. I know no one who works there, though one of the managers trained at my store a couple years ago. His name is Chuck, and I've had maybe four conversations with him ever, so he's not really, you know, an ally yet.
This is going to be weird. And fine.
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