Eleven and a half years ago, a somewhat overweight Manhattan bachelor with a decent head for words, a blazing-fast set of typist’s fingers and a pleasant demeanor shuffled into an upper east side auction house on the first day of a temp assignment.
Yesterday, that guy, now married, a country squire with two kids and 60 pounds lighter, with the same head, hands and WPM but a different title and responsibilities, quit.
(Hint: ^ me)
As with every other thing I’ve ever done, leaving has not gone the way I imagined it would. While my part-time job has been whinging about my commute, my efforts to change it have been scattered. I’ve read books, I’ve taken classes, I’ve written manifestos; I’ve taken on freelance work I barely have time to complete, but it hasn’t solved the basic economic problem of living relatively NEAR New York without working IN New York.
No, it was a headhunter saved the day, and I don’t even hardly want to know how they found me. This is an excellent opportunity, north of town, which will cut my commuting time in half and pay me more, while I get to learn about a new industry. I start in late June.
I haven’t driven to work since 1994.
What does that mean for Exurbitude? I’ll tell you what it means. Now I’m REALLY EX-urbitudinal! Let’s make fun of New York City! WOOOOO! Transplants and expats unite! WooooooOOOO!!!
PS: As before, I won’t be blogging about work. (Although here's something I wrote last week for my current employer.)
PPS: I rarely say “Wooo” in person, and when I do, it’s satire.