It’s my last day working at Starbucks. I’ve been having this same dream for years even though it’s always different. The vibe has changed as I’ve processed leaving but there are still shades that don’t feel good. Like this time I’m debating what to take and what to leave. Paper files and pictures, objects, boxes. Knowing it’s my last day and the time is paring down.

A former boss said you shouldn’t have to walk out alone, she would see me off, but when it was time to go she wasn’t around and that’s exactly what happened, I walked out alone. I didn’t mind but then I thought maybe I should. It was like walking in a dream. And funny now it feels just like that, a dream.

It’s the last day in March, my last day at Starbucks. I already have another job, a better one, so it’s no big deal. But there is something left undone about that day.

I go back to the building to get my hair cut sometimes. When I do it’s on a Saturday so there’s no one there. The lights are mostly off but I look around because my stylist’s salon is right near my old desk. To dwell there would be pathetic so I don’t. My hair stylist says we all have DMT in our brains and it gets released when we’re born and when we die but also when we dream. I don’t know where he gets his information but it’s easier to believe, there’s less friction.

So every time I have these dreams it’s like an acid trip with a serrated edge to where you can’t tell which way it’s going. There are never any people I recognize in these dreams, just the interior layout of the building, the various turns and seating areas. It is more about how I feel inside, that’s the dream. Like letting air out of a balloon.

I am crossing the lobby on the ground floor leaving the building for my parked car out front, an old Volvo. Then making an appearance at a company holiday party because it’s Christmas. I don’t think anyone knows how to react to the fact that they’ve pressured me into quitting, layoff style with a compensation package, and yet here I am still coming to the party.

I arrive early as people are getting their seats but it’s too early to get drinks for some reason so we’re all stuck making small talk, everyone bouncing their legs, looking distracted. There is some reminiscing because this is it for me. About 20 years with the company, a lot of memories.

I don’t stay long and make a quick exit. Then driving home across the bridge it sets in, it’s over. Tomorrow I will drive back to collect my last check and when I do I’ll pop in the new cannabis shop to get some pre-rolled joints, maybe a good bottle of Champagne before the kids’ musical at the elementary school. There will be plenty of time to process things as I clean out the garage and gear up for a year in Europe. I’ll write it all down and start a new life, leave the old one behind.

And yet here I am how many years later still leaving, still letting go.

Categories: Corporate America, Creative Nonfiction, Memoir

Tags: Creative Nonfiction, identity, Memoir, Nostalgia, pacific northwest, Seattle