Guilt

Have you ever tried to tell 45 bleary eyed, non-english speaking janitors that you are leaving to find your path on some sort of existential journey and that working for a janitorial contract, no matter the $, is crap for a wandering soul like yourself? Oh yeah, and you're not allowed to hurt their feelings because they're all nice and remind you in many ways of your extended family. Hand gestures are allowed.

Bright side: My arch work-nemesis boycotted my party by writing I'M NOT COMING! in big fat letters to match his big fat head. Seriously, the thing is enormous. I was relieved. Convention would have required i give meathead a nice tap-tap-pat hug should he have profferred and I would have got his man-slime on me. Ew.

Down Side: SkSn tried to make me cry all over the three dozen lovely pink and yellow roses the whole place saw fit to buy me by listing everything that I was leaving and checking for tears. Not that he did it for sport or with malicious intent, but some people only measure your grief by the level of your hystrionics. People in ancient Rome used to hire paid mourners to follow relatives funeral processions just to up their own wailing and moaning to prove they were really, REALLY sad. But I descend directly from stiff upper lip stock from the heart England, Germany and everywhere else they bury/deny/avoid emotion. I would have been a crap paid mourner.

But, i got a party. It was my first party in years. And, they brought me food and said nice things about me and gave me an engraved timepiece to count down they seconds before I have to get another job.