So, it's happened. I've finally left my old job as a lifeguard and swimming instructor. Actually, I left it early in July, but starting a new job, moving, etc. has prevented me from having the time to write about it until now. The whole experience was quite surreal, and I'm not sure it's entirely sunk in, just yet. You could break my departure down into four separate events.
The first would be my final all staff inservice. This yearly event happened to occur this year on my birthday, and also five days before my last scheduled shift. Prior to the day I had thrown in a plug to my boss for the fact that it would be my birthday and that I, half jokingly, expected a cake. Her response left little doubt that there would, in fact, be a cake. Really that's all I expected - a cake and the mandatory goodbye card signed by the staff. What I got was a whole lot more. In addition to the cake and card, I received several other gifts and cards, and many nice things were said. All in all, it was a little overwhelming, and I'll admit to being somewhat choked up. It was great to be able to say goodbye to everyone all at once, to get to spend some time with everyone and not have to have to give anyone a lacklustre goodbye because I was unable to see them before I left. I'm sure that the cards and signed picture will continue to mean a lot to me for years to come.
The second portion of my departure occurred the next day. I received a phone call from one of the other lifeguards, asking me to come in to guard because a scheduling mistake had left her short staffed. I include this as one of my departure events because of the particular guard that I was working with. I had know her for 10 years and taken many of my swimming courses with her. On top of that, the very first lifeguard shift I worked had been just the two of us, and now it had come full circle so that the last lifeguard shift I would work would be just the two of us again. It was great because the pool deck was closed for two hours in the middle of the shift, meaning we just got to hang out one more time before I left.
The third event occurred after after my final shift. It was a Thursday night, and I went out to Boston Pizza with many of my closest friends from work. We stayed there for several hours, and I have to admit that having them all meet me at the pool made leaving the building after that final shift a lot easier.
The final event occurred on Monday, two weeks later. I had returned from my training in Houston two days earlier. I was leaving the city to heard to my new job. Before doing that, however, I had one last bit of paperwork that I needed to complete at the pool, so I stopped there before leaving town. I got to say goodbye one more time to one of my favourite people, and then I left the pool, this time alone. While I had been inside, it had started to rain, so I exited to find dark grey skies and rain pouring down. When I got into my car, the radio was playing Green Day's Good Riddance. Since I tend to assign meaning to just about everything that happens, it began to sink in that my time at the pool really was over. This confluence of events felt somehow fitting and, though I was again a little choked up, it felt right and I was at peace with it.
Now, even after having not worked a shift there in almost two months, and having received my official release papers, the place still feels like it's connected to me. I still refer to it as "my" pool, and when telling stories still say they're from "work" and not "my old job". I think I'm going to cling to that possessiveness of the place for a long time.
So now I'm in a completely new city, surrounded by completely new people, which has got me thinking about the meaning of home. I have my own apartment here, which is great, but at the same time, I don't quite think of it as my home. This might be due to the fact that in my head I know that I'll only be there for a few months before being shipped off to another new place, with another new apartment. But when I return to Edmonton on the weekends, I'm finding that the house I grew up in is feeling less and less like my home as well. Though I always thought I understood it intellectually, I feel like I'm just now really beginning to understand the exchange in Garden State where Andrew (Zach Braff) says:
"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home any more. All of a sudden, even though you have some place where you put your shit that idea of home is gone.
You'll see one day when you move out. Just sorta happens one day and it's gone. You feel like you can never get it back. It's like you feel homesick for a place that doesn't even exist. Maybe it's like this rite of passage, you know? You won�t ever have that feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself. You know, for your kids. For the family you start. It's like a cycle or something. I don't know. But I miss the idea of it, you know? Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people that miss the same imaginary place."
It really is a sobering realization. And more than a little unnerving.
The difference that I notice the most, between my old job and the new one, is the people. At the pool I was surrounded, almost entirely, by women, most in the 16-25 age range. As you'd probably expect, they talked. A lot. Which was great. I really got to know a lot of people, made some great friends, and I credit working with these girls with a lot of what helped me to overcome a lot of my shyness and really helping me improve my conversational skills. At the new job, however, the difference is almost night and day. I now work with all men, most in the 40-60 range. And none of them talk. Ever. They just sit in their cubicles all day, silently. Even during coffee and lunch breaks, no one moves, no one talks. When I do have to say something to one of them, I feel as though I'm just interrupting, destroying the precious silence they've obviously worked so hard to cultivate. And they do it all in the dark. The room has plenty of lights and windows. It could be a bright, encouraging place to work. Instead they leave all lights off, all windows shut. The only illumination is provided by the computer monitors. Well, the monitors and whatever light spills out of my office. You see, that's the other way I'm winning new friends there. In addition to being the young punk kid who comes in and gets the corner office while the rest of them are in cubicles, I also turn the lights on in my office and open the window. The result is that some of that light inevitably spills out into the dungeon-like main area, robbing them of some of their coveted darkness. Yep, they all love me.
What I didn't really figure out until I began the new job was how much I got out of my old one in terms of contact with friends and conversation. Since I would be able to return to Edmonton most weekends for this first assignment, I didn't think I'd have too many problems with missing people or getting lonely. After all, when I lived in Edmonton, I mostly hung out with my friends on weekends anyway. What I didn't piece together was that all that time during the week when I was at work was also time when I was with friends and people I could talk to. Now, in the Silent Workplace, that's all gone. And I miss it.
I'll be in my current assignment until the end of September, at which point I'll be transferred much farther away, making returning to Edmonton on a regular basis impossible. I guess I just have to hope for a more talkative staff at the next one. Otherwise all my communication energy is just going to have to be routed into texts, e-mail, Facebook, and, of course, this blog so that it can be read by you, my imaginary reader. We'll just have to wait and see.
Sleep well,
DTE
