I Quit My Job. Then I Spent Ten Days Trying to Get It Back.

The Day the Access Card Stopped Working

On the third day after I quit, the access card was still in my jeans pocket. When I washed the pants, I took it out. The plastic shell had a crack. I put it on the shoe cabinet, next to my work badge. Its lanyard curled into a ball.

At 7:20 in the morning, my body clock woke me. I sat up, put on a shirt, walked to the door, and only then remembered I didn't have to go to work. Half a carton of milk was left in the fridge, two days past its date. I poured it into a cup, smelled it, and poured it out.

My phone buzzed. The former colleagues' group chat was discussing a new project. Someone @'d me and asked, “Was this interface written by you?” I replied, “Yes, but I'm not there anymore.” The other person sent an awkward emoji. I opened my former boss's WeChat. Typed, “Mr. X, how have you been?” Deleted it. Typed again, “I want to come back.” Deleted it. Locked the screen.

On the day I quit, the boss said, “As long as you've thought it through.” HR said, “Once the process is done, it can't be reversed.” I signed, handed in my card, left the group. When I walked out of the building, it was 4 p.m. The sun was good. I bought an iced Americano and sat by the road to finish it. Nobody called. I didn't check my phone.

On the fifth day, I went to an interview. The interviewer asked, “Why did you leave?” I said, “I wanted a change of environment.” He smiled and didn't press. On the way out, I took the subway in the wrong direction, reached the terminal, and rode back. That night, a former colleague messaged me: “Your old position is still hiring. The boss even mentioned you yesterday.” I stared at the screen for a long time. Then replied, “Really?” He said, “Why would I lie?”

On the sixth day, I called my former boss. It rang three times. He picked up.

“Hello, Mr. X. This is XX.”

“I recognized your voice.”

“I've been thinking. Last time I quit on impulse. Is the position still open? I want to come back.”

He was silent for a few seconds. Then said, “When you left, I thought you had something lined up.”

“No.”

“The position is still open, but the salary may be the same as before. Can you accept that?”

“Yes.”

“I'll talk to HR. Wait for my message.”

After hanging up, I went downstairs to the convenience store and bought a bottle of water. My hand was shaking a little. I twisted the cap twice before it opened.

On the seventh day, HR messaged me on WeChat: “Rehiring requires approval. It may take a week.” I said okay.

On the eighth day, a former colleague told me the person replacing me had already been hired, transferred internally. I read the message twice. Then asked, “So am I still going back?” He said, “The boss said you'll go to another team.” Another team? I hadn't done that. I looked at the message. Then at the wall. Then typed to the boss: “What exactly does the other team do?” He replied, “About the same as before, but you report to me.” I read it twice. Then typed, “Okay.”

On the ninth day, I waited for approval. Every day I went to the library, sent out resumes, looked at interview questions. At noon I ate a convenience store rice ball, sitting on the steps. At 4 p.m., sunlight fell on the table. At the old company, everyone ordered milk tea. I don't drink milk tea, but I ordered lemonade with them. Now no one asked if I wanted lemonade.

On the tenth day, HR sent the onboarding materials. When I got to the field “Reason for leaving previous job,” I wrote “personal development.” Deleted it. Wrote “personal reasons.” Submitted.

That night, my former boss messaged me: “Approved. Start next Monday. One-month probation. Rank unchanged.”

I replied: “Received. Thank you, Mr. X.”

He said: “Don't thank me. Work hard.”

I said: “Okay.”

Monday morning, I walked to the old company building. The security guard stopped me: “Who are you looking for?” I said, “I'm a new hire.” He had me register. I wrote my name. Handwriting, a little crooked.

In the elevator, I ran into a former colleague. He said, “Oh, you're back.” I said, “Yeah.” He said, “Welcome back.” I said, “Thanks.”

The elevator reached the seventh floor. I walked out. My desk had changed, by the window. The keyboard cover was new. The pothos was the same pot, two leaves yellowed. I moved it to the window and watered it.

At noon I went to the cafeteria. The lady said, “Haven't seen you in a while.” I said, “Yeah, I was on a business trip.” She said, “Today there's braised pork.” I said, “I'll have one.”

After lunch, I went back to my desk. My former boss walked over and said, “Meeting this afternoon. Get ready.” I said, “Okay.” I opened the computer. The desktop was the same as before, unchanged. I deleted the document I had half-written before quitting, and created a new one.

Outside the window, it started to rain.

At the afternoon meeting, I sat in the corner. The boss said, “This project was previously handled by XX. Now that he's back, he'll continue with it.” Everyone looked at me. I nodded. No one mentioned that I had quit.

After the meeting, a former colleague came over: “That pothos of yours, I watered it twice, but it still turned yellow.” I said, “It's fine. It can still live.” He said, “How long are you staying this time?” I said, “I don't know.” He said, “All right.” Then he went to get water.

When work ended, the rain had stopped. I walked to the door. The access card had been replaced with a new one. I swiped it. Green light. I pushed the door open and went out.

My phone rang. It was the company from the earlier interview, asking what I had decided. I said, “I've already started a new job.” The other person said, “Okay. Good luck.” I said, “Thank you.”

After hanging up, I stood by the road. Then I walked back to the subway station.