The Next Chapter

It was definitely not my choice, but it was not the world's worst news — at least not at this stage of life. After almost 23 years of working at The Mailbox, my position is being terminated by the powers that be.

It was definitely unexpected. Especially since we began working at home at the start of the pandemic, I have devoted myself to this career beyond any of my own expectations; I have actually loved it. I have it on good authority that at least a couple of my office mates (well, mates away from the actual office) have long considered me indispensable. The lot of these folks truly are something of a second family, many of whom I've worked with for the entirety of these damn near 23 years. But the decision makers are not part of this family; they're bean counters who reside a long way away, who have no understanding of what it is we truly do — or how bloody perfectly this gang of disparate personalities has meshed and functioned harmoniously together for more years than most folks ever work at one company anymore. It's nobody's fault really; our business operates as businesses will, and when numbers are down, for whatever reason, this is just how it goes.

I can't say I wasn't hoping for at least another couple of years behind the graphic services coordinator's desk before I retired. Still, I have quite seriously considered retirement more than once since our company was bought by foreigners (well, New Yorkers, if we want to be technical). But I realized that, in the long haul, I'd be better off, financially and probably psychologically, sticking with The Mailbox as long as they'd have me.

Well, now they won't, and I reckon it's time to move on. Things will definitely be a bit tighter than I've been accustomed to, but barring a fair number of rugs being pulled out from under us all at once, Brugger and I should make out okay. In some ways, I've been dreaming of this opportunity — to be able to devote myself to writing projects that have been burning inside for some time now — and to grab that opportunity sooner rather than later.

Well, here it is.

To Sharon, Amy, Becky, Jen, Phil, Tina, Troy, and of course Brugger, who deigned to marry me: you folks have been the best bunch I could have ever hoped to work with, and I am proud to call you not just my peers but my friends and family. Well, maybe not Troy, but the rest of you... yeah. It has truly been my privilege — except for on those occasions that you've pissed me off. (Be aware that I have written some of you into stories — and you know how my stories go.) Should I ever achieve wealth beyond my wildest dreams, rest assured that I will buy The Mailbox, and all you good folks will have jobs until you wish you didn't.

And that's it. Off we go.

The Cryptic Morgue Pit

Yeah, what a hectic week. After months of preparation and planning, the company I work for by day has moved from its longtime digs on Market St. in Greensboro to a new office out by Piedmont Triad International Airport. I can't say I'm thrilled about the change — my new daily commute is actually longer than my drive when I lived in the city of Chicago and worked in the northern suburbs (square mileage–wise, Greensboro is larger than San Francisco or Boston, with almost enough urban sprawl to boot). I suppose I was somewhat spoiled by having to drive no more than 15 minutes to any of my various workplaces in Greensboro since I moved here in 1987, usually with minor to moderate traffic issues. Now, it's the daily Asshole Parade on Interstate 40 and U.S. 29, with few reasonable alternative routes to and from my place. It certainly ain't helping my blood pressure.

That said, this is still the best day job I've ever had or could probably want, at least as long as I'm on someone else's payroll. The pay ain't that great, but the benefits are fair to middlin', and I couldn't work with a better team of folks — except may Troy, but we're not going to talk about Troy. We're not going to talk about Troy at all; we're going to leave him out of it.

However, this isn't quite the end of it. These new quarters are actually temporary, as our permanent space, a couple of buildings over, is not quite ready for us to move in. We'll probably remain in our current location for a couple of months and then go through the whole moving thing all over again. For the moment, though, I kind of like the office where we're situated. It's a cool (read chilly) building, which really sits well with me, and there's lots of space for walking with Ms. B. at break times. There are, in fact, a handful of caches on the premises, though of course I claimed them several years ago when they first came out. However, once I determine whether there's adequate usable space, there's a good chance I'll hide a new one or two nearby.

The past couple of days, with all the upheaval, everyone's been kind of punchy, and our work spaces have been designated as summer camp cabins, with the occupants responsible for naming them. The space I share with a couple of others has become known as the Cryptic Morgue Pit, and I was not entirely responsible for this, a fact that gives me at least some hope for certain of my co-workers.

Busy, busy.