The director, fresh from his vacation, was in. His reaction to the resignation letter?
Pretty supportive. He wasn't surprised, for two reasons: First, it's what I'd studied to do, truly. And. . . he said I was good.
That was so nice. I mean, I came in with little experience--but ready to work--and sometimes I felt as if my inexperience really showed.
Of course, he asked if I'd told the head of children's services. I said no, that I hadn't been sure of the protocol but I'd presumed I should notify him first. (I mean, seriously? It's not the sort of thing one can ask around about, exactly.) She was out for the afternoon but returning later for a meeting, so he said he'd tell her. (He must've been reading the "please, please don't make me" plea in my eyes.)
With the stipulation that I send her an e-mail to let her know I'd told him.
It was hard to write for too many reasons to enumerate, but I will say that having the reference librarian's desk right next to mine made it difficult. So did the fact that anyone looking for hardcover YA fiction by authors PAO through SAB could look over the low shelf and over my shoulder. (I also actually, you know, helped library patrons and stuff while I was trying to type. I had an adorable 9th grader who needed help with print resources for a current events paper. Man, in my day, it was enough to hit an incoming freshman with girl-centric summer reading assignments.) But I did get it done and hit "Send."
Ohhhh yeah. That news will have had a day and a half to spread by the time I'm back in there.
I'm wondering if I should bring in a peace offering. Like pie.