And the world spins madly on

This is for Morna, who told me to write on the weekend. So I didn’t quite do it THEN, but at least this is somewhat timely.

I’ve written about work before, so here we go again.


So, work. It was fine enough, I suppose. Work buddy Mat and I talked constantly about it. We talk about everything, in our way. So it eventually came up: what’s the next step, for either of us? I’d been in my position for just over a year and a half, and some contemporaries had already moved on.

I didn’t have doubts about my ability. But what did I want to do? Continue in sales, or do something different?

I’d spoken at length with Mat and many others about my thoughts. I don’t see myself as an aggressive salesman, and many insisted I didn’t have to be to succeed in this job. They were right, to a point. Effective salespeople are those that engender trust, and truly believe in what they do. There are different ways to do that.That’s when I’m most effective: when I’ve built that trust. When a solution truly is the best thing for the person across from me, and I believe that fervently, then I’ll communicate it better. If they trust me to be honest, then they’ll be more likely to bank with us. And we both win.

That trust is something I can never abuse in my position. I won’t “sell” something that doesn’t make sense for them. I believe that may be a detriment to me someday in a sales role. Comission-based sales (which we are not) breeds aggressive selling, but can also encourage the wrong kind of behaviour.

There were several options. I’d applied for a position that meant moving out of sales, and didn’t get an interview. Which was too bad, because I interview well. But I was still looking to move.As an analytical sort, I thought about why. I liked my work well enough. It had it’s frustrations, some of which would be present in any sales type position, and some which might have been avoided by moving up. I don’t know if this is my passion, but I’m smart enough to know that it doesn’t necessarily need to be.

I’ve felt restless in a lot of ways of late, and that’s come across in not writing. That’s part of why I wondered if I could make it as a writer- I don’t focus well enough for good, long form narratives. I read novels where I can see when the writer ran out of steam, and I didn’t want this to be that. I wanted to be excited about writing, to relish in it, to not feel like it was the pressure to put food on the table. Does that make sense? I feel like it does.


So, this work thing. Hash out spots, apply for one, get called for an interview. As before, I kept it quiet beyond a select few in my office. I felt like a heel, in some ways, getting dressed up for an interview, and being unable (or more to the point, unwilling) to tell others where I was going. An off-site meeting was the easiest excuse, without providing enough details.

My co-workers were happy for me when it was confirmed, of course- they would be. So why not tell them then? It felt like a betrayal, in some ways. I hold myself apart from them, even as I cherish them, in ways I don’t think I’ll ever admit. They’re family away from home. Some of them have watched me grow, from part-time, quiet teller to wisecracking PBO. Would they have felt like I did, so conflicted as I walked out that day to go interview?

I interview very well, and I came prepared thanks somewhat to the tremendous help I had around me. I felt like I had the job the moment I walked out of the manager’s office there, though I didn’t dare presume that in conversation. Like any reflective sort, I reviewed the interview, taking in my possible new surroundings as I walked out the door. It’s a nice, open branch. I like open floor plans. My office wouldn’t be next to the door- also a plus.

The branch itself wasn’t ideally located, tucked in a corner of a strip mall, in a parking lot where you’ve gotta pay. $25 a month, apparently. They thought to mention that right off the top, which made me chuckle.

I spotted a Wendys’ across the parking lot. Yeah, that was gonna be good for me.


As I mentioned before, my compatriots were universally happy for me. Even our new manager, who joked about me having to find my replacement before I left. I’ve spent this week (and will spend next week) cleaning up my files, and letting the few clients I’d worked with a lot know that I was moving on. Haven’t quite figured out that part yet. I don’t want to be the guy who does it by letter, but those I don’t talk to directly will have to get that. I suppose it’s customary.

One of the tellers asked if I was happy, and I paused before answering. I felt restless then, as I have for a while, before replying, “yes”. I’m happy with my work. Am I happy with my life overall? Well, not yet. I would say I’m content. I’ve got nothing to complain about, certainly. But it feels like something is missing.

She said if I was happy, she was happy, which made me feel like a heel again somehow. I shouldn’t feel that way, really- I’m excited for this new position, even as it means me leaving a place I’ve worked for over three years now, and people I know very well. Soon, it’ll be a new group of people, and a new office, and new challenges.

Change is a part of life, and certainly a part of life in the bank. I’ve seen a lot of folks come and go even in my three years at that place… and now I’m one of them. I’m feeling a lot of things. Or maybe I’m just hoping to make it to next Friday without going crazy. Yeah, that’s probably it.

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