A few months ago I spoke to a friend, we can call her Stacy, and we sat down with a glass of wine as she explained her work life. I believe she works as an accountant in Boston, and she told me how burnt out she was. She would sometimes pull all-nighters in the office, and on top of lunch breaks, she has “dinner breaks”, which apparently is a thing. She was so emotionally tired and drained, with migraines taking over her life.
Then she said, “Sometimes when I drive to work, I think, I could just flick my wrist ever so lightly and drive into that telephone pole, go to the hospital, and then I wouldn’t have to go to work for like two days.”
Of course this was my reaction:
We then started laughing uncontrollably because we have to admit, we’ve all been there. Bill Burr even discusses the notion of suicide just to get out of something. He told his girlfriend he would make blueberry pie for Thanksgiving one year just to shut her up, and then Thanksgiving rolled around and he had no idea how to make a damn blueberry pie. So he literally considered committing suicide just to get out of making a blueberry pie.
Let me tell you my passive suicide story.
It was December 2013. I was working my first office job, who were so considerate to not give us a day off when there was a blizzard. It usually took me an hour to drive to work, so in a blizzard, it took twice as long. I had a dinky little 1999 Toyota Camry that had been to hell and back which made driving in the snow much more difficult. As I sat at my desk punching in numbers, I could see the giant snowflakes the size of my big toe dropping down from the sky. Everyone in the office prayed we would be let go a little early so we could get home safely. My work was so kind to let us out a whole hour earlier than usual, a good seven hours after the blizzard started.
I wobbled my way out to my car, cleared off the snow and tried my best to scoot my way out of the lot without flying into the side railing. The roads were hardly plowed which meant driving 10mph. I already knew this was going to be the longest commute of my life. Nearly three hours later, I could see my exit. I was only a few miles away from my apartment when the most horrifying thing happened.
The air was so cold that my windshield wipers froze. They stopped in place, not moving an inch. It was like a scene from The Day After Tomorrow. As the snow kept pummeling down, and my windshield wipers frozen in place, I couldn’t see in front of me. I panicked. I rolled down my windows and popped my head out like a dog in summer in order to see the road in front of me. I pulled into the closest gas station and frantically tried to fix my windshield wipers. I’m not half wolf half woman, so the warmth of my hands did nothing. I tried to clear away the snow but that too, did nothing. I took a deep breath, left my window down, cried for a second, and decided to brave the three miles I had left. But in my head I thought, if I were to spin out of control and crash into the Merrimack River, I guess that wouldn’t be so terrible.