The Party's Over

Last day, Zero Hour


It's finally come down to it, the last day in my office. I look everything over for the last time. Computer cleaned out? Check. Drawers empty? Check. List of important tasks for replacement? Check. A few people stop by to say good-bye and vow to visit me in my new department. "We'll have lunch!" they all exclaim. It's an excruciatingly long day and I decide to call it quits at 4PM. I load up the few things I still have to cart home in one of those reusable, 'green' shopping bags. I just can't bear any more boxes. I stand in the middle of the office and announce, "Well, I guess this is it. I 'm outta' here." Everyone empties out of their cubicles and alcoves and comes and hugs me.

And then the inevitable happens. I just lose it. I don't mean I start just crying, I'm talking about chest-heaving-can't-catch-your-breath-bawling like a lost 3 year old at Wal-Mart. It was exactly what I didn't want to do, and I did it big time. My only slight satisfaction is that public displays of emotion like that are usually contagious, sort of like yawning. As I turned and walked out the door there were six, full grown women standing in the lobby of the office, sobbing. I had reduced them to mere puddles of their former selves.

"My work here is done," I said to myself under my breath.