Liminality and the Embassy Suites Airport Hotel

It’s funny. The moment I hand in my letter of resignation, the job that once seemed so unbearable doesn’t seem so bad anymore. I get up in the mornings, drive to work, everyone is congratulatory and wants to come chat. They’re sad to see me go, they say. They want to go out for last drinks and last lunches and they want my opinions about things that they never wanted my opinion about before. They tell me about all the potential I would have had if I had stuck around, and it would be enough to make me a little bit sad if I didn’t know better. It’s happened before – this post-resignation euphoria. It’s similar to the “grass is always greener theory” not just for you, but for your co-workers. And I suppose that the old adage about how we don’t know what we’re missing until it’s gone is a bit true.

But what am I saying? For the last nine months at least, all I could think about was how much I hated the day after day monotony of my job and its menial tasks. Next Tuesday I’ll be putting on the mouse ears, and after two weeks of post-resignation euphoria, I start to second guess myself. I suppose that’s perfectly rational. I am really looking forward to this new job which promises so many different opportunities, but for now, here is what I am going to miss:

I am going to miss Friday lunches. I am going to miss L. yelling at her kids over the phone, teeth clenched, booooyyy, imgonnawhoopyoass - and that look on her face at meetings that says I’m not even going to pretend that I like being here. I’m going to miss conversations with K. about circus freaks and llamas and ninjas that span for far longer than they ought to. And talks about spooning with dogs and killing fish with a garden hose. I’m going to miss Asians don’t do Oysters, and BB, you know blue balls, which really are purple, if we’re going to be honest. I’m going to miss the froot loop. I’m going to miss last Friday of the month food comas and haughty men who look with disdain at my hot pink shoes. I’m going to miss the way the six pillars of character are spoken of as though they were an inside joke even though we all secretly sort of believe in them.

And there you have it. Sitting around at happy hour tonight at the Embassy Suites Airport Hotel, I thought about what a bizarre, liminal space it is. People come and go. It is a portal. And yet, we’re here eating nachos, drinking beer, and toasting Roderick’s birthday. I suppose if I’m going to read into it, the Embassy Suites Airport Hotel represents what this year and this job have been for me – a space between. A space that I don’t want to linger in for very long. A space that is inevitably awkward and that doesn’t try to be otherwise. I think this is why this year has been so trying for me: this year is middle school and the Embassy Suites Airport Hotel and waiting rooms at doctors offices and laying in bed waiting for your snooze alarm to go off one last time. In retrospect, it’s all amusing. Spend enough time anywhere and you can be nostalgic about it.