Like Ol’ Blue Eyes sang: “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today, I want to be a part of it…New York, New York.” Yes, I’m going and I can’t wait to tell my boss.
So, bring out the marching band, as I’m off to the land of dreams. And the best bit is that I’m still going to be paid in pounds sterling, rather than weak dollars, as this London City Girl jets off to Wall Street.
The bank pays for everything, starting with a first-class flight and chauffeured airport arrival. A relocation specialist has been appointed to take care of my domestic arrangements and there’s even a swanky Manhattan loft apartment, owned by the bank and rent-free for the first few months while I set myself up.
My boss will be seething, having narrowly missed out a few years back when her “look-at-me-I-could-rock-the-New-York-office” PowerPoint presentation bombed. But who cares? What goes around comes around, and this girl is done with being her bitch. See how she likes doing her own work for a change.
Of course, the decision wasn’t an easy one, so I roped in my friends for their advice. First to share her pearls was a friend who, having recently hooked up with a guy from New Jersey on the internet, told me to “grab it with both hands, one on each bum cheek” – no surprises as to what’s going through her mind. Or maybe it was the prospect of a free crash pad when she plucks up the courage to meet him.
Then there was my “artist” friend from my school days. She was horrified, branding me a warmonger for wanting to dance dirty with the Bush Man himself.
So you see, eventually it came down to the money, the Wall Street fantasy and, well, the opportunity to rub my boss’s nose in it. I just have to tell her, so I’ll be waiting for the cold shoulder treatment and the black sack job that’s bound to come when I pluck one of the “here’s one I prepared earlier” resignation letters which have been cluttering my bottom drawer since the first day I laid eyes on her.
Next week, in my last column, I promise to give you all the grim details on her reaction. I won’t enjoy it, I promise!