And Done!

In what I'm sure was not at all a subconscious message, I forgot to set my alarm last night. I woke up thinking the alarm must be about to go off any minute, but after lying there for a few minutes, I looked at the clock and, oh, I see, I got an extra hour of sleep. Nice! And there was no need to rush in, as I didn't have a report to work on anyway, so it was the easiest kind of oversleeping.

I approached the last week of this job curious about something: what, if anything, would they do to send me off? In one way, I didn't care, given how I feel about the job and the company (more on that below) and some of the people, but on the other hand, in the past they have at least ordered pizza for the departing, and to be honest it would have hurt my feelings, albeit slightly and briefly, if I didn't rate that much. While I waited to find out, there was some consolation in the thought that this was the last time I'd have to wait for that kind of last-minute planning. At least, I hope the new job won't have that problem! I'm sure it will have its problems, but I'm ready for some different ones.

At any rate, late Wednesday afternoon the boss sent out an e-mail that lunch would be ordered on Thursday, which was really the last possible day given the sparse attendance typical in the office on Fridays (last week, my boss and I were the only ones who came in; this week, there ended up being five total). There was some further suspense in terms of what it would be (since the message did not specify pizza) and if it, too, would be ordered at the last minute. The answer was pizza (which is fine) and "not quite the last minute," as the boss came out looking for menus at 10:30 Thursday morning (I had put the menus I'd accumulated out on the empty desk next to me last week, in a symbolic "not my job any more" move). So, no, as a couple of people asked, I did not have to order my own celebratory lunch.

The pizza was good (and I had leftovers for lunch again today, why not), but it did turn out not to be the last last-minute waiting I'd do. The day that I gave my notice, two weeks ago, I talked on the phone to the woman in HR in NY, who said that she would set up a time for an exit interview closer to my end date. Ten days ago, my official end date was set, the boss notified her, and she responded, so she knew. And yet, guess what she didn't do? Yeah, big surprise. I had even e-mailed her last week, with a follow-up this week, and never heard back. Typical. She finally called me, today, at 12:20, to address the question, but you know, kind of last-minute. She scheduled a call for us at 1, when it turned out that she had a whole exit interview form to go through, which took half an hour; I'm so glad I brought my knitting in with me, to get through the excitement of rating things by "excellent, good, fair, or poor" and so on.

How will I not miss working for this company? Let me count the ways.

• The many general "quirks" of the company, about which I feel I should remain vague here, but lo, they are myriad, and clearly "procrastination" and "unprofessional" are among the words that could be used. (Also, "templates," if you really want to see me boil over, is an excellent trigger.)
•  The physical problems of the office, with its temperature issues and its turning lights on in empty rooms and its water dispenser that takes 30 seconds to fill a cup.
• The specific quirks of my boss, who I NEVER HAVE TO SEE AGAIN, NEVER NEVER NEVER, ALLELUIA, do you hear the angels singing or is that just me.

When it was time to take my things out to the car, I was a little giddy. Woo! Done! Last time!

When you leave a job, you leave behind a legacy of sorts, whether just of memories of you, or of notes used to train new employees, or any number of things. One of the legacies I'm leaving behind is from my plant, Seymour, who left cuttings with half a dozen people. I told them I expect to see a jungle by this time next year.

Seymour awaits his new home. As do I. It would be nice to get some time off in between, but this way, I won't have time to get worked up about it. And that's probably a good thing.

Off to do laundry and eat ice cream. Not together. Happy Friday! Happy, happy, happy.