When I went to face my 120th week of employment at my current day job, something was different. I found out Patrick, my co-worker, fellow editor and office mate, had turned in his two-week notice of resignation the Friday before when I wasn't around. He had spoken briefly to me about the idea of quitting a few weeks before but hadn't pulled the trigger. Twelve hours after his notice, another co-worker, Lola, turned in her resignation. To complete this bizarre impromptu mutiny, I went home on Monday, mulled over the dilemma, and completed the triple play on Tuesday by stating I would stop working three days before Christmas.

For the past two years and four months, I have worked at Architectural Research Consultants. This narrowly makes it the longest I have worked for any company (my job at Bone Appetite Pet Supplies and Dog Kennel lasted a little over two years). While people always thought it was impressive working for something that had the word Architectural in the name, the job itself was very lackluster.

I could never properly explain what I did for the company. I did so many different little jobs for them that it was unclear what my true purpose was. On the time sheets I was a Planner 4 (which is slightly less impressive as Planner 3). On the web site, I was a research assistant. In my office room, I was part of the editorial staff. To my co-workers, I was the weird guy in the corner who listened to CDs he brought in instead of taking part in office gossip. I edited, did data entry, copied thousands of documents, helped produce several different reports, researched things from bats to z-pinch machines that attempted to harness the energy from man-made lightening bolts. At my two-year review, my boss asked me the question 'So what would you like to do for this company?' The question was eerily similar to one he asked me when I started the job. In two years, no one knew what I was doing.

Why did I stay so long? Well, there were perks. I started at $10.50 an hour and got a raise after a year to bump up to $11.60 (the most I've ever been paid). I was considered full-time by working 30 hours a week (receiving vacation and sick leave). The work was menial but manageable, and I instantly forgot about the job when I walked out the door every day. After my previous job which dealt with kids with behavioral and mental disorders, it was very comforting not to be tormented by my employment in my free time.

Why am I leaving? No raise this year. No Christmas bonus. No more benefits or paid time off when they up the amount of hours required to be considered full-time (they never had enough work for me). While not close friends, Patrick was the only guy left who I spoke to in any social manner, and with Lola and him gone, I would be at least one generation gap away from the rest of the employees. If I had stayed, they would more than likely made me do Patrick's job, and I already knew that Patrick hated Patrick's job. I would enjoy doing his job just as much. But more than anything else, the problem was that most of the time I wished I was somewhere else from the moment I got in until the moment left each day.

I was not a model employee. I came in late and left early so much no one knew when (or if) I had any set schedule. I played Tetris so much that I knocked the impossible high score that came with the game out of the top ten. I would bring books to read and music for listening. If I was done with work, I sat around until I decided I had better things to do elsewhere.

I was, however, a diligent employee. When given an assignment, I busted my tail to get the work done ASAP. This is why no one complained loudly about my strange ways. I always got the work done.

Like Patrick and Lola, I don't have anything lined up for future employment. This baffles everyone else in the office. They can't fathom people just up and leaving a job without moving directly onto another. Don't you have a five-year plan? Don't you have car and house payments? Don't you want to stay on a career track? No, no, and what's a career track?

I'm not worried about being unemployed for a little while. I live like a starving artist anyway. Another job will come along, and I've worked several kinds. In the long run, my time at ARC will be lumped in with working at the children's residential treatment center, the homeless shelter, the dog kennel, UPS, the Frontier Restaurant, KFC and the book store. That doesn't even count my writing gigs over time. In short, it was a job, and it came with a pay check. Where, oh where will I find another?

In the mean time, there are writing projects to work on, books to read, movies to watch, nature to revel in, muscles to exercise, thoughts to ponder, friends to visit, a theatre to fix up, good deeds to do, a bike to ride, music to listen to, plants to grow, food to cook, a saxophone to blow, a mountain to hike, basketball teams to cheer on, and lessons to be learned every single day.

How did I ever fit a job into the mix anyway?

Chris Jungle will work for knowledge and beer.