The other day at work I was told, breezily, to edit one of our informational materials in a bigoted and offensive way -- to remove an illustration because the figures in it were "too ethnic," with the comment, "It's not that I'm prejudiced, but we just don't have those people living around here."
So it's not a matter of if I quit, but when and how. I'd love to just pile my stuff on my desk over the weekend, topped with a terse resignation letter, but I suppose that's not a good thing. But if I give my two weeks I'm likely to be formally escorted out the door that same day in a simultaneously paranoid and intentionally humiliating way, because that's the kind of place it can be.
My first step today: Calling my Thrivent guy to find out about individual health insurance. This is worth breaking into my modest family legacy for, for the next year.