Sammy showed throughout the story some heroic traits. His innocence and immaturity got the best of him. When Sammy left the supermarket he realizes what just happened. "My stomach kind of fell as I felt how hard the world was going to be to me hereafter (501)." Sammy comes to the realization that he has to grow up now. And that being an adult is hard work. He is no longer working for friend of the family. That he is not a child anymore, "My white shirt that my mother ironed the night before (500)." And Sammy did not want to be like his coworkers. Sammy did not regret the decision he made. He wanted to achieve bigger goals in his life than just being a store manager at the "A&P". Sammy quit his job because of his innocence and lack of maturity.
(Reading) So writing is my sole remaining vice. It is an addiction, an illusory release, a presumptuous taming of reality, a way of expressing lightly the unbearable. That we age and leave behind this litter of dead, unrecoverable selves is both unbearable and the commonest thing in the world. It happens to everybody. In the morning light, one can write breezily, without the slightest acceleration of one's pulse, about what one cannot contemplate in the dark without turning, in panic, to God. In the dark, one truly feels that immense sliding, that turning of the vast earth into darkness and eternal cold, taking with it all the furniture, and scenery, and the bright distractions and warm touches of our lives. Even the barest earthly facts are unbearably heavy - weighted, as they are, with our personal death. Writing, in making the world light - in codifying, distorting, prettifying or verbalizing it - approaches blasphemy.