Chapter 1: The Search for a Hidden Stash

It was a typical Friday afternoon, and I found myself in disbelief as I realized I had consumed all my cocaine by just 3:00 PM.

Where could it be?

How was I expected to endure another two hours at work?

I couldn’t let myself come down—doing so would turn me into a complete nightmare.

In a frenzy, I rummaged through my desk and violently tore apart my purse, desperate to uncover any hidden bag of cocaine that I might have tucked away. Deep down, I knew I hadn’t saved any; I inhaled it all the moment I got it. Cokeheads like me don’t stash away their stash! Nonetheless, I continued my search, hoping for a miracle.

The late '90s were an interesting time, especially in the mortgage industry. Whenever I mention my role as a mortgage underwriter back then, I can’t help but add, “And you’re welcome for the housing market collapse!”

Cocaine was part and parcel of our work culture. In fact, our underwriting team had a rotating schedule to bring in the weekly eight-ball for three of us. On this particular Friday, it was my turn. But of course, I didn’t just bring enough for the group; I stashed some extra for myself. My appetite for the stuff was far greater than my colleagues', so to maintain my façade, I had my own supply. This Friday, however, I must have entered party mode. I snorted through my secret stash with such speed that I felt invincible.

While others enjoyed a casual high followed by happy hour, I was just getting started. My partying would continue until late Sunday night, just before I had to drag myself back to work on Monday, hollow-eyed and half-conscious.

As I sat at my desk that afternoon, still hunting for that elusive stash, a memory struck me like a bolt of lightning!

Two weeks earlier, I had been pulled over for speeding. In my panic, I had hidden a gram or two of coke in a secret compartment in my car. During one of my many wild nights, I had thought it wise to create a small hole in the upholstery near the gear shift—perfect for hiding my stash in case of emergencies.

Given my reckless driving and lack of current registration, I knew I needed to be prepared for the inevitable. Thankfully, the drugs were well concealed when I got pulled over, and the officer had sent me on my way, blissfully unaware of my hidden treasure.

That memory kept me from dumping my purse for the third time on that chaotic Friday afternoon. I recalled being so rattled after the ticket that I must have just forgotten about my stash. But realistically, I knew I had probably rifled through my car the moment the cop was out of sight, and there was no way I would have left any behind. Yet, in my drug-fueled haze, I convinced myself that I had a mission to accomplish.

With excitement bubbling over, I headed down to the parking level, practically skipping to my car. Once inside, I eagerly poked at my hidden stash. But to my dismay, I found nothing.

In true desperation, I started to widen the slit I had made in my car's upholstery. Still, no luck. Frustration mounted as I tugged at the fabric, turning my car into a scene from a chaotic tug-of-war.

Time slipped away, as it often does in such states. I eventually gave up, thinking I had only spent 15 minutes on my fruitless search.

As I reluctantly returned upstairs, my hands were raw from the struggle, and sweat dripped from my forehead—not just from the summer heat but from the immense amount of cocaine coursing through my system. I must have looked like a deranged lunatic when I exited the elevator, just in time to run into my supervisor.

Oh great.

She was a short, stout woman who resembled a cranky version of Penny Marshall, and her eyes narrowed as she hissed, “Perfect timing, Dannii. Where have you been for the last hour and a half?"

I couldn’t stand her, and it wasn’t entirely her fault—she simply reminded me of my mother. Thus, every interaction was strained by my own issues.

“Well, Vicki… I’m an adult. If I need a break, I take a break. No one needs to know my business. How about you just mind your own?”

That was the spark that ignited the flames in my already volatile state.

Fueled by drugs and rage, I stormed straight to the vice president’s office to share my thoughts on her leadership.

I brushed off her assistant's attempts to stop me, marching right into Evelyn’s office—an influential figure in the mortgage industry and a mentor to many successful women. She had earned her respect, but I was in no mood to show any.

I flung open her door and shouted, “Evelyn! I refuse to work for a place that treats me like a child! I’m an adult, and I don’t need micromanagement from anyone. Not from you, not from Vicki—nobody! This is absurd. To hell with this job, and especially you, Evelyn: I QUIT!”

She leaned back in her chair, sizing me up with a slight smirk, seemingly unfazed. She’d never liked me, and it was no surprise; I was known for being cocky and argumentative, despite my intelligence.

After a long pause, she simply asked, “Is that all?”

Being the dramatic person I was, I had one last act up my sleeve. I stepped back and forcefully slammed the massive oak door behind me.

Except, to my surprise, it didn’t slam—her office door had dampers, preventing such theatrics. I froze, locked in an awkward stare as the door closed slowly. Evelyn’s smirk turned into a chuckle, which only deepened my humiliation.

By the time I shuffled back to my desk, security was waiting for me with boxes to collect my belongings. I was furious—not just with the company but also with my inability to execute my dramatic exit.

I never spoke to anyone from that workplace again, nor did I ever find that hidden stash in my car.

Fast forward 30 years, and I can now look back at those chaotic days with humor. Not every story involving drugs has to be a tragedy or a lesson; sometimes, they’re just embarrassingly funny.

Chapter 2: Learning to Laugh at the Past

In this insightful video titled "How to Quit Your Job: The Harvard Business Review Guide," viewers are given practical advice on navigating the complexities of resigning from a job gracefully, without burning bridges.

Another useful resource, "Your Guide to Quitting Your Job Gracefully," offers a comprehensive overview of how to leave a job on good terms, ensuring a smooth transition for both the employee and employer.