Quitting Time

The Helmsley Building

This is my current view, each night as I leave work.

"Leave work" - does a sweeter pairing of words exist in the English language?

Monday through Friday, me thinks not.

(On Saturday & Sunday, though, "sleep" and "in" go together rather nicely.)

No Regrets

St. Patrick's Cathedral, with 30 Rock in the distance

When asked for a list of my proudest accomplishments in the year 2012, I would have to include this afternoon's Houdini-like escape from a company-wide (soul-sucking) two-hour meeting, and the ensuing afternoon in Central Park which I purchased with stolen freedom.

Best thing I've done all week.

Jury Duty:
My Day(s) In the Sun

Law & Order fans - look familiar?

I spent last Wednesday & Thursday downtown, doing my civic duty.  

Can I tell you something?  It was freakin' glorious.

First off, some real talk:  Lately my job has been rather...well...how shall we say?...[expletive] unbearable. So jury duty came at just the right time. A much-needed break from the beige cubicle. 

Fact:  Lawyers love tasseled loafers.

Jury duty was also a break from monotony. I jumped the tracks of my workaday rut. Rather than pull on the same boring work clothes, I grabbed fun dresses and skirts from my closet instead.  I left my apartment at a different time, took a different train, went downtown (where I rarely venture), got my morning coffee from a different place.

Newness, variety - all so inspiring to me (as a writer...and a human). At the court house, there were new people around me to interact with, new procedures to follow, new protocol to absorb. New murals to stare at:

The inside of the court house is beautiful.

My actual juror experience was pretty painless: a few hours each morning spent in an air-conditioned room with free Wi-fi. I read or emailed or day-dreamed. Then we were 'released' each day around lunch.

The first day I grabbed a sandwich and sat in this park overlooking the Hudson River. The second day? Vietnamese food from Baxter Street while watching some old men play chess.

The night before jury duty, while trying to view Venus' transit from the 70th Street pier, I had fortuitously run into a friend-of-a-friend.  She's a fount of knowledge about all things New York, and she clued me in to a public work-space downtown, not far from the courthouse.  

"It's lovely, but you can't tell anyone about it," she made me promise. "I don't want it getting 'discovered' and over-crowded.  It's my best-kept secret."  So, sorry folks - mums the word on where I spent Wednesday and Thursday afternoons - but it was lovely, and sun-filled, and quiet, and friendly, and I was beyond happy to be sitting there on comfy couches, catching up on overdue emails and working on writing projects.

Heaven?  A little slice of it, I think, maybe.

Looking up, downtown

On Wednesday, while leaving the court house, I held the door open for a man behind me.  In a Russian accent, he thanked me, then said, "And again, I must thank you."

I shot him a quizzical look and he explained, "For looking so good today!"  (Shucks. I just think it's nice to look nice for the justice system.)

On Thursday, while waiting in line at security, a woman (also with an accent) asked the man behind me if this was the right building for filing for divorce. He wasn't sure, but said he thought so. Then he was so bold (and kind, I think) to address her - this stranger - again, with candor: "It sucks doesn't it?"

"What, divorce?" she asked, "Yes.  It does...But I guess it's just life."

"Yeah," he admitted, "But life is hard sometimes."

"Yes," she agreed, and smiled, if wanly.

So many stories in this town...

Playing hand-ball (I think?)

Heading into jury duty, I knew I would appreciate (oh-so-very-much) being out of my office.  What I hadn't anticipated were the ancillary benefits that came along with it.

My whole perspective shifted, softened. Rather than feel defeated by a workday, I was optimistic that "Anything could happen...and just might!"  I was not so easily annoyed by people blocking the doors in the subway.  When fellow jurors didn't listen to the instructions given to us, I didn't pass judgment, just shrugged and wondered what it was like to be them.  I took deep breaths, I sat happily in the moment and feared not for the future.  I was patient, I was present, I was smiling.

The implication is clear: if jury duty (jury duty!) brings such a sense of peace and well-being and contentment, then I need to find a new job.  Post-haste.

I'm a' working on that one, promise.

Sounds about right. (As seen in TriBeCa)

Finally, a nerdy word about the importance of jury duty, delivered from a soap box: 

Yes, I was enthusiastic about jury duty because it was a vacation from work, and yes, my time in the juror pool ended up being a cake-walk.  And I think this is typical of most people's experience - sit around for awhile, get released.  

Still, more often than not my announcement of "I have jury duty coming up," was met with a response of "Ugh! That's horrible. Say something crazy/racist/ignorant to get out of it!"  

I get that impulse, I totally do.  Jury duty can be downright inconvenient for many people, plus Liz Lemon made getting dismissed look flippin' hilarious.  But the thing is, our justice system - while arguably flawed in parts - is fascinating as a whole.  And you get a front-row seat and a first-hand education in it while serving on a jury.  

Even more, our right to trial by a jury of our peers is an important one.  Many people across the globe don't enjoy this privilege; we're lucky to have it.  But it only works (well) if we're willing to show up and be peers for our fellow citizens.  So let's let ourselves be inconvenienced for one another.  In the name of justice!

Easier said than done, I know.  Enough with the civics lecture.  Shall we toast?  To chasing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  And days in the sun.  Where and when they may be found.

Here We Go Again

My office is in the midst of a large-scale move.  Every closet and filing cabinet and desk drawer needs to be sorted through and cleaned out and packed up - it's thrilling work! (Actually... it kinda is.  I love throwing stuff away.)

Yesterday, as I was boxing up binders in the supply room, two co-workers stumbled upon a radio (a radio! remember those?) in the back of a closet. They plugged it in to see if it still worked (it did) and messed with the tuner to find a station.  All of a sudden, Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" came blaring into the supply room.  It was a nice (loud) break from the beige-ness of a workday.

And, man.  That has to be one of few songs about being alone that makes you want to do fist-pumps and herkies, am I right?

Now, some questions/comments about that video:

1) The song is about striking out again on your own.  So what's with the girl in every scene?  Is she a metaphor for something (like the lead singer's adventurous spirit)?

2) If not a metaphor, are we to assume that she is the girl that he broke up with, right before striking out again on his own?

3) Do you think he broke up with her because of her flagrant disregard for motor vehicle safety? (Wear a seat belt, lady!)

4) Do you think he broke up with her because of her annoying habit of looking directly at the camera and lip-syncing his lyrics?

5) Do you think he broke up with her because their identical hair-styles challenged him in a way that he wasn't comfortable being challenged?

6) Or do you think he broke up with her because she was having an inappropriate physical relationship with the hood of his car?

Let's all take some time to ponder this over the weekend and meet back up here on Monday morning to see if we've come up with any answers.

Inky

Lower East Side

There was a toner spill at work yesterday.  It was a big deal, if you wanna know.  Turquoise splotch on the carpet, an associate covered in the stuff, and excited chatter that lasted for at least 15-20 minutes.  "Oh no, what happened!?" "Did you see what happened?" "I thought you were supposed to shake the cartridge!" "Is the machine broken?" "What's going on?" "It was an accident!" "That's a special cartridge." "I have a presentation due." "Where's the nearest color printer?" "Look at the carpet."  "Uh-oh, who made the mess?"  "That's hilarious." "You're not supposed to shake the cartridge."

On and on and on, my co-workers went about the toner spill.  They weren't mad or annoyed - people seemed really very energized by the whole thing.

My first thought was that we must have a pretty boring office, if a toner spill can make this big of a splash (bam!) in the ol' routine.  And that's not untrue.  It is a pretty boring office (sorry, folks!)

But after reading an article about tattoos on Slate, I wonder if there's something even beyond routine boredom at play in the Great Toner Shake-up.  The author of the article, Simon Doonan, presents a somewhat tongue-in-cheek hypothesis about why people get tattoos these days:

"Here is my theory: Tattooing is no longer just tattooing. It’s a culturally sanctioned form of delicate cutting. Participants, i.e. everyone on Earth apart from me, are seeking an antidote to the numbed feelings and detachment that result from their idiotically screen-centered lives. If you look at Facebook, play video games and online Scrabble, and/or scour Slate 24 hours a day, you will eventually reach a freaky plateau of desensitized unreality. You will crave the enlivening, awakening, back-to-reality release which comes from the jabbing pain of a tattoo needle. Before you know it you will be begging some dude with a pierced tongue and a shaky hand to emblazon your chest with rutting unicorns and a lunar landscape."

It's a sweeping generalization, and a facetious one at that, so obviously it doesn't adequately capture everyone's motivation for getting a tattoo.  But I think he makes an interesting point about lives that are lived ever more virtually and "screen-centered."

I don't have a tattoo, but I can relate to feeling that craving for an "enlivening, awakening, back-to-reality" experience.  I spend precious few moments away from my computer and/or phone: while running in the park, or at the gym, or...in the dentist's chair. (Really had to stretch for that last one.)  There are so few situations these days when I am really, truly unplugged from the virtual world and 100% present in the real one.

We spend hours a day 'pinning' cute craft ideas, but how much time do we actually spend making something real with our hands?  We skim through friends' 140-character quips, but how much time do we actually spend looking into their eyes, hearing their words, and letting ourselves be changed by them?  Jobs where you "push paper" - never very stimulating to begin with - have lost even their sense of tactile productivity; instead of paper we now just push buttons, moving virtual files around a virtual work environment.

Which brings me back to the Great Toner Shake-Up.  Maybe it was so exciting for people partially because it was real - something really happened.  Someone used his hands, shook a cartridge, turned the floor turquoise.  None of this happened on a screen, it happened in reality.  Our workplace was physically altered (i.e. the carpet is now blue).  "What happened?"  Something happened.  And it awoke us to the toner-mess of a moment, out of our desensitized detachment.

Didn't mean for this to be an anti-technology manifesto.  I'm not about to smash my computer screen or cancel my smart phone contract.  Just wanted to remind myself to take more frequent breaks from the "freaky plateau," and revel in reality of life lived in the moment (messes and all).

Boldness, Crystallized

My five-year anniversary at The Firm recently came and went, and it maybe kinda-sorta wrought a minor crisis of purpose. This job was initially supposed to be just a stop-gap situation before grad school, but here we are - five years down the road - and I have no exit strategy.*

This anniversary is not stirring up feelings of "Hooray!" so much as "Oh crap."

But - as is so often the case in life - there is a silver lining, and it is this: I just received an email from The Firm, notifying me that I get to pick out an anniversary gift for myself.  Exclamation point!

Perusing the gift catalog for something other than a briefcase or golf club covers, I ran across this listing for wine goblets (as pictured above).  I need/want Waterford crystal about as much as those golf club covers (read: not at all), but I was intrigued by their accompanying description:

"Waterford Caprice White Wine Goblets (set of 4).  Remember the last time you were bold and daring?  Recapture those moments of confidence with these exquisite stemware pieces."

Wowzer.  "Recaptured confidence" seems a big promise for a wine glass to make, no?  And, am I to understand that using Waterford crystal will make me bold and daring - just like I apparently used to be??

I've clearly underestimated and under-esteemed the power and panache of Waterford.


*Yet. YET!

Whatever I Feel Like I Wanna Do
(Gosh)

Central Park, near Bethesda Terrace

Although my Saturdays & Sundays are still regrettably over-scheduled, all my weekday "after school" activities/classes are on break for the rest of the summer. It's a calendar miracle!

With such scheduling freedom, I hardly know what to do with myself after work each day.  Here's what fun stuff I got up to this past week:

-performed in an Improv show in Murray Hill

-saw an Improv show and ate Thai food in Chelsea

-had a convicting (in the best possible way) convo with my roommate

-took a walk with a neighbor (Hi C! :)

-celebrated another roommate's birthday at the Boat Basin

-played with babies in Brooklyn; ate din-din in 'billyburg.

This post feels a little self-indulgent (as if all blog posts aren't?) but I wanted to put all the fun stuff in print to put the rest of my week in perspective.  

Because work this week was...not the best.  It was hair-pulling, under-my-breath-muttering, crazy-making.  My internal dialogue between the hours of 8:30am-5:30pm each day featured a barrage of f-bombs and idle threats of "I quit I quit I quit."

BUT.  But.  Reminder to self: those kind of work weeks are the exception, not my norm.  And at the end of the day, I'm thankful to have a job that affords all my fun end-of-the-day activities.

Yes. Amen to that.

Nevertheless...Monday morning better take it's sweet a** time in getting here.  

Happy Weekending!

Taking A Note from The Office

My beloved Toby bobble-head

I have just spent an hour trying to figure out how to use the new color copier.

Happy Friday, to you too!

Because It's Administrative Professionals Day

And because it's still National Poetry Month, I present to you a beloved poem that Judith Viorst wrote, a couple decades before I had the chance to myself:

With all I know about Mr. D. H. Lawrence,
I visualized something literary,
Something full of pipe smoke and good English tweeds.
Where editors were stunned by my perception,
And grateful novelists put me in their books,
And Nobel prize winners, over double-martinis,
Confided their deepest Nobel prize-winning thoughts
To tender, reflective, wise-beyond-my-years me.

With all I know about Mr. Stanislavsky,
I visualized something theatrical,
Something full of false lashes and empathy.
Where directors were stunned by my perception,
And grateful playwrights put me in their plays,
And leading ladies, over double martinis,
Said tearfully if only they had half the talent
Of stirring, memorable, charismatic me.

Instead of which
I am sharpening number two pencils,
And buying the coffee and Danish
At 9:45,
And taking my boss's dictation,
And my boss's wife's blouse back to Henri Bendel,
Hoping that someday someone will be impressed
With all I know.

-The Job, by Judith Viorst

Book Ends

Manhattan Bridge

On Monday morning, I ran into a friend on the street.  I was heading east (from my home to my work) and she was heading west (from her home to her work).  And somehow we both managed to turn onto the same block at the same time and meet in the middle.  It was foggy and grey, and as aforementioned - it was Monday.  I love that such a day started with an unexpected smile from a friend.  It helped.

On Monday evening, as I snuck out of my office a bit early to head to an appointment, I ran into another friend.  I was heading west, to the subway; she was heading east, to her apartment.  Having not seen each other in a while, we stopped to chat for a few minutes.  And thus I was a few minutes late to my appointment, but I didn't care.

A chance encounter with someone you know in this big, big city isn't actually as rare as one might think - it does happen.  But it is still just rare enough to make you feel a little bit special. 

Especially on a Monday, when a working girl needs all the help she can get.

Strength for the Work Day

(Source)

(Hum it with me now...)

Phridays Are Phun

You’re looking at labels on a drawer in my office’s pantry.

I glance at these labels at least twenty-seven times a day, because the pantry is where the coffee is, and where the coffee is - so there is Kristy, too.

And these labels make me smile every. single. time.

One day I am going to write a song called “Folks & Knifes.” Or maybe I will form a band called “Folks & Knifes.” Or maybe I will get a real hobby and forget about the office pantry drawer labels. Or maybe I will form a band called “The Office Pantry Drawer Labels.”

On Fridays, I feel as though my possibilities are unlimited.

* * *

Here is how this Friday started:

I spent the first half-hour at work trying to get my boss’s cell phone out of Mute mode. No idea how it had gotten into Mute mode in the first place. I was tasked with fixing it, because I am a technological genius. You may not know this about me, but it is true.

Here is what this genius did:

1) First, I pushed every button on the phone.
2) Then, I pushed them again. Scrolled through menus. Pushed more buttons at random.
3) Thirdly, I shook the phone and looked at it sternly.
4) Finally, I pushed every button on the phone.

And then – Knights of Columbus – it was fixed! I’ve got technological genius magic in these fingers.

* * *

Here is how this Friday is going to finish:

Friendtastically.

First up, unwinding with some fellow West Side sisters, whose sympathetic ears I sure could use, after the week I've had.

Followed by MadDawg’s arrival in the Big Apple! Looking forward to a weekend of catching up, wandering around, wondering after questions with no answers, sighing sighs and speculating on the future, as well as following in the footsteps of our favorite folk celebrities. Oh yeah, and whiskey milkshakes.

Let’s all sigh a big sigh of relief for Fridays. And friends. And whiskey milkshakes.

Postscript: My office pantry drawer labels got their 15-minutes of fame over at the Late Night with Jimmy Fallon blog. Check it out!

Turkey

My sandwich guy thinks I'm easy.

At least, that's what he told me (and anyone else who happened to overhear) when I showed up at his sandwich counter in the office cafeteria the other day.

He and I are friendly enough. I appreciate him because he makes me sandwiches (and you know I love sandwiches) and he seems to appreciate me because I am his harbinger for the close of the workday. When I show up shortly before 2pm (late lunches make for shorter afternoons, people! try it!) his eyes light up with recognition that his shift is almost over.

Sometimes, when he spies me, he'll grin and say, "Hey, hey - whenever I see you I know the end is near!"

But the other day, he announced, "I like you. You're easy."

Uhhhhhhh. Hmmmmm?

Of course I'm sure he meant 'easy' as in 'easy-going,' as in 'I don't order complicated sandwich creations and make his life unduly difficult.' That kind of easy. Not the other kind of easy.

One hopes that everyone else in line at the sandwich counter that day also understood his intended meaning. Seeing as I'm pretty much at the opposite end of the spectrum from that other kind of easy, I'd hate to be accused of false advertising.

Alls I'm Saying...

...is that if I had Monday off (instead of having to work) then maybe it would be a perfectly wonderful opportunity to mosey down to the East Village and have my first taste of Boldery! in 2009.

Translation: Get a nose ring.

But. My employer must be racist or something, because I do not have Monday off. So the only hole I'll be making on Monday will be the ever-increasing hole in my soul where "career fulfillment" should be.

Uh-oh. Some attitude. Maybe this girl needs another cup of coffee this morning...

On the Fifth Day of Christmas...

...I decorated. Check out my new 'Will Ferrell, as Buddy the Elf, Getting Attacked by a Raccoon He Tried to Hug' desktop:

Doesn't that just make your day? Mine, too. Another thing that makes my day is sitting just beyond those beige cubicle walls you see in today's December Daily photo. Well, perhaps I shouldn't refer to her as a "thing." She is a human being, after all. Nonetheless, she is my "good thing" to be thankful for today. She is a co-worker. And she is Dutch.

She moved into that neighboring cubicle a few weeks ago. I don't really know her, beyond the "good morning" pleasantries we occasionally exchange. So why am I thankful for her presence? Because she often makes personal phone calls. In Dutch!

I love the Dutch language. Sure, it has a lot of gutteral sounds and doesn't exactly flow like French, no fire like Italian. But hearing it reminds me of my year spent in Amsterdam, which was months of magic and adventure. And it reminds me of my Dutch friends, my feeble attempts to speak their language, canals and bridges, brown-walled cafes and stroopwafels.

And now, at least once a day, these pleasant associations are conjured up in the midst of my beige & boring work-week existence, whenever I hear this co-worker start speaking those familiar "naturlijk," "dat is leuk" and "wat seg je?" phrases. I love it. For a moment, alles goed.

On the Third Day of Christmas

Today on my lunch break, as I left my office building and walked a few blocks north, I mentally composed this blog post. The theme was to be: New York Sucks and I Hate It.

Sounds real uplifting, right? You may be curious as to why I feel this way. Well, I'm not going to tell you. Because though the words of that initial blog post were well arranged, the sentiment true, and though I had planned to seamlessly weave in song lyrics and an appropriate amount of pithiness, I realized that it was not at all in keeping with the intended theme of this Daily December blog project. Namely, drumming up "good things" to focus on instead of the bad. Oops. Day Three. Take Two.

Ok, so today's "good thing" theme will be: Lunch Breaks.

Yes, today I'm focusing on the fact that my current job allows for one-hour lunch breaks. I get to leave the building for one whole hour each day!

The reason this is striking me as a good thing to be mindful of (and thankful for) is that I've spent a lot of time over the past few days reminiscing about my previous job. My walk down memory lane was precipitated by the indictment of a former co-worker on embezzlement charges, but that's neither here nor there. The point is that at this prior company, at which I worked for one whole year, I took about four lunch breaks. Four total. In one year. My job there was demanding and stressful, so I worked right through lunch. Assuming I ate lunch at all. The last month I worked there, my diet consisted mainly of iced coffee.

So I'm giving thanks today for my lunch breaks. That I get to take them. That I get to step away from my desk and enter a different world for an hour each day (today I went to Afghanistan, c/o The Kite Runner). And giving thanks that my job, whatever else I could say about it (and I could say a lot, though mostly through tears and with clenched fists), certainly provides a much better work-life balance than I had with my prior employer. And that is a good thing, indeed.

Daily Photo #3: Self-portrait of me on my lunch break, in theMidtown public space where I normally eat, posing in front of the mercury-ball Christmas tree decoration, which never fails to remind me of The Terminator.

The Power of Positive Thinking

Still working on my workaday attitude over here.

Today I'm keeping in mind that I can either spend my cubicle-dwelling hours grumbling and whining about this job, or...I could dare to dream about better environs.

According to CheapTickets.com, round-trip airfare to Guatemala in September is only $355. I'm just saying...

(Source)

The One with the Fake Wall

Well, my attitude towards my job has been less than stellar this week. I'm afraid the novelty of Pimp Dog might be wearing off a little, so I tried to cheer myself up by reading through quotes from Blades of Glory. That helped some. As did this video made by a bunch of pranksters:

www.cheeksdown.com/index.html?wallprank

That office may just be my ideal place to work. They pull pranks, everyone says "WTF" (my favorite workplace slang), the CEO walks around in gym clothes - sign me up! A seemingly vast improvement over my current environment, where I've never experienced any pranks and can't recall anyone saying "WTF" even once, even in jest.

Also gym clothes are contraband here, according to the latest "Business Casual" dress policy that was circulated this week. I am convinced the policy was written by a middle-aged woman in Tulsa. (No offense to you middle-aged Tulsonians, but c'mon - you know how you can be!) Here at The Firm, the policy dictates, culottes are acceptable but capri pants are not. Also, socks or stockings must be worn at all times. Even in the summer?! Yes, even in the summer, Mrs. Tulsa decrees, because she clearly does not understand the smothering heat factor of a summer commute on the NYC transit system. Culottes paired with pantyhose may serve her well as she drives to work in her air-conditioned Dodge Caravan, but they would be the death of me during my morning commute. (Cause of death: ridicule & heat stroke.)

It crossed my mind that it might be hilarious to show up to work one day wearing culottes and knee-high argyle socks. With "dress sandals" - another policy stipulation. Kind of a "Look at what your rules have reduced me to!" statement. But then I realized that my fashion-conscious performance manager would be deeply offended by my outfit, and the policy expressly states that we should avoid making others feel uncomfortable by our clothing choices. Thus another attempt at hilarity bites the dust.

Gotta go - someone has just requested that I come help them organize and sort all the emails in their Outlook inbox. Do I sense a prankster in our midst!? Sadly, unfortunately, I think she is being all too serious.

Until the next time...

Salty Tears of White-Collar Rage

I haven't been enjoying my job too much lately. By "lately" I mean the past 6 or 7 months. Or perhaps more truthfully, off-and-on since 2002. This week has been especially bad, though. Or perhaps more truthfully, my attitude has been especially bad. I gotta work on that. The circumstances of my current career may be beyond my control, but my attitude and outlook while at this job - well, these are my responsibility.

So I'm trying to replace my internal running dialogue of discontent with a little levity, focus more on the good around me and not just the bad & annoying, and keep trusting that God wants to lift my spirit higher than these beige cubicle walls. Here are some steps I took today:

A) Listened Up: I traded in a soundtrack of my own whining for some tunes on Pandora Radio. Do you know this site? It's a free internet radio station that customizes play lists based on your musical preferences. I've got a sweet mix of The Weepies/Frank Sinatra playing now, with a little Keb' Mo' and The Frames thrown in for good measure.

B) Listed Up: Instead of laboring over mental lists of grievances, I'm going to be on the lookout for the humorous. Like today: called a midtown kosher restaurant to make a lunch reservation for one of my bosses. The recorded message that played in lieu of hold-muzak featured a woman with an Australian-ish accent describing the restaurant's offerings. She said their food was Mediterannean, with a "eunich Asian twist." I'm guessing the word she actually said was "unique," but I made sure to jot down "eunich." Because that was a whole lot funnier. Though not at all kosher.

C) Word Up: I'm beginning to resent the amount of head space that my work-related accounting terms and acronyms are occupying. So I decided to counter-act their clutter by adding a new Hebrew word to my vocabulary each day, via Akhlah's daily email. Today's word was "cat." Which brings me to #D...

D) Up Dog: I changed my computer's boring, standard desktop image to a tiled background of this Pimp Dog:When I start to worry that an Excel spreadsheet is about to make my eyes bleed, I take a little gander at this grinning velvet-clad canine and kinda can't help but grin back. I think I'm going to make frequent changes to my desktop going forward, so feel free to send me your best (and by "best," I mean "worst" and "most innapropriate") images and I'll get them in the rotation.

Work Was A Total Buzz-Kill Today

quitquitquitquitquitquitquitquitquitquit

I love it. Available here from EstaSketch.