This semester is over *yay*

I'm finished as of 5:30pm today (well the 20th, which is now technically yesterday). Ahh, what a relief. Now I can focus my efforts on other things, like my coming medical school interview and back-up plans for not getting into medical school, Christmas shopping, and creative stuff. I won't be going home until Tuesday, so I have a bit of time to clean up my dorm room, shop in the city and just chill.

I still haven't decided what I'm getting for many of my family members. I'll figure it out. Also, I have to get a gift for my family's yankee swap; something in the range of $20 to $25. I think I might get a movie or something. I'll have to see what's available.

The snow these past few days has been pretty crazy, and I've almost wiped out walking into buildings with slippery floors multiple times. It's pretty treacherous. But the snow makes everything look pretty, even if it is more difficult to get around. I would post pictures of campus and everything, but I'm not sure where my camera is at this moment; plus, I'm exhausted and just want to hang inside for a bit before drifting off into a heavy sleep.


I decided to do this writers prompt from the website "Writer's Digest."

After 42 years with your company, the day has finally arrived: your last day of work. Your coworkers throw you a lunch retirement party. After cake, one coworker asks you to reflect on your years with the company. So you do—and you hold nothing back.

Here's my response:

It's a cold afternoon, a week and a half before Christmas. I walk, wrapped in my oldest wool coat, to those doors for a final time. My last day (well, half day) of work. I can't believe I'm finally leaving this crummy office. I already cleaned out my cubicle yesterday; I chuckled to myself while Tom silently sobbed at his desk, which shares the cubicle with mine. Maybe that was mean, but I couldn't help it. Getting away from his disgusting habits is one of the many sweet things about retirement.

Today, Greg is supposedly going to get the office together to give me a "going away party." What that really means is that he's probably having us all go to the crappy chinese food place down the street--Chang's Dynasty--and have us pay our own way. Any time I've been there I've seen at least four cockroaches. I've actually kept a count--up until today I've seen, total, 389 cockroaches in that place, including one cooked in my lo mein. Years ago I suggested a different venue for our office luncheons; Greg took it as a personal insult and instead ignored all of my work for the next week. Normally, I would welcome him being silent, but when he ignored me, he instead talked to Tom and said, "Could you tell Cathy blah blah blah." It was more annoying than his normal personality.

I sit down at my desk and awkwardly turn to Tom, expecting his usual overexuberant, "Hey, Catarina!" with some added embaressing comment about my age. Yes, I am the oldest person in this office. But do I need to be reminded of it daily? Instead, he has already begun sobbing. Pathetic. I don't acknowledge it, and instead turn back to my desk. I carefully remove the latest Danielle Steele novel--I'm a sucker for romance--from my new Coach bag that my husband gave me in celebration of my retirement. I've been aching over this purse for a year, so I can't help but show it off, even if it is to people that I can barely stand.

After reading chapter or two, Greg and his secretary, Kate, approach my desk. For some reason she always follows him around, but rarely says anything. "So, hun, how's it hanging?" Greg asks.

I just stare at him. I'm almost twice his age, but he feels the need to call me "hun." I've always thought he was threatened by my work ethic; I was offered his position before he was brought into the office, but I declined, since I didn't need the extra headache of running this place. I would not have enjoyed worrying about the office in my spare time in addition to loathing being there during the day.

Kate just stands there, biting the black nail polish from her withered fingernails.

Tom sniffles loudly. I look over my shoulder and see he has his pinky up his nose. Lovely.

"Well, it's almost noon time. Lunch." He pauses, looking around awkwardly like trying to find something to say. He then looks at me for a good thirty seconds.

I stare straight back into his watery little eyes.

"You must be so upset to be leaving; you've been here, what, 50 years?"

I shake my head. It's been 42, but there's no need to correct him. The least interaction, the better. I am getting paid for these last few hours.

"Well, I know I'm glad--and you must be too--you came in for the half day today." He rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes.

"You made me come in for the half day. My husband and I had planned for a day off to visit our grandchildren." As much as I've told myself not to react to him, I can't help it. He always acts like no one could want anything better than spending time with him.

"You'll have plenty of time for your grandchildren. Anyhow, I just wanted to tell you to get your coat on and grab your wallet. Let's get lunch!"

And with that he walks off, Kate in tow.



Well, we receive our egg drop soups, and I pretend to sip mine. Better not actually eat anything here. It's an all day buffet, so there's one price for everything; I'm tempted to just get a glass of water and not eat, but that's not polite, and I have too much dignity for that.

Only Greg, Tom and Kate come. Granted, the office is small with only seven people in it; apparently, no one else wanted to come to Chang's. Go figure. Greg and Tom are on each side of me, talking across me as if I'm not there. Even though this is my going away lunch, right now I'm allowed to fade into the cracking faux leather seats. Kate gazes into her soup, not touching it, and then removes a brush from her duct-tape bag and begins to groom herself at the table. Were none of these people taught manners when they were younger? Not that it matters anyway; in this dump of a restaurant, brushing your hair at the table may improve the cleanliness.

I spot cockroach number on crawling on the wall across our table.



After we eat, Tom orders some fried concoction that's apparently supposed to be dessert. After it arrives at the table, he turns to me and says, "You got this, right? I mean, it is your party." I just ignore it. I keep counting down in my head--only an hour and a half to go. Just breathe. It's only a few dollars. It's worth it to prevent any further annoyance on my last day.

Kate, for once, comes out of her daze and glances over at me. She's a young girl, about twenty one or twenty two, I'd guess. She has jet black eyes, and, though I've never noticed before, they actually seem warm and welcoming. She chews on the edge of her lip and asks me, "You've been here since before I was born, right? That's a hell of a lot of time. What have you thought of being here that long?"

Obviously, I am taken aback. I've barely said two words to Kate since she started working here after she graduated high school. "Well, there's not much to say. I started working here when I was eighteen; I needed a job to support myself. I wasn't married like many of my friends." I gaze at my hands for a second. "I guess it's been pretty good." I pause. I am completely lying, and I don't like it. But if it helps me get through the last few minutes of this luncheon, then that's what I'll do.

Tom and Greg continue to talk over me. Tom sneezes in my food, but it's not like I was going to eat it anyway. I spot cockroach number two at the edge of the table.

Kate continues the conversation. "Yeah, I guess it's okay here. Maybe I'll wind up staying as long as you did." She frowns. "What else did you think of it?"

"Well--"

Just then, Greg, in an attempt to jump into our conversation and awkwardly hug me, knocks a dish of soy sauce on my new purse.

"What--why don't you--" I don't even know what to say.

"Oh well, it's just a bag, hun." Greg grins. "When I see the waitress, I'll ask her for some more napkins. What were you two ladies talking about?"

I can't take it anymore. "Well, Greg, we were talking about what I thought about working here for the past forty two years. And you want to know something? I've had a lot of incompetent bosses in those past four decades, but none were as incompetent and irreverant as you." I pause and take a stabilizing breath. "First of all, you continue to call me hun, even though I've asked you not to multiple times. It's rude and sexist to refer to me as 'hun.' I'm not your honey and I never will be."

"Hey, Cath--" Greg tries to interject.

"No, I should have said this a long time ago. You are immature, and you don't shower often enough--which is why I cringe every time you try to hug me. As for my going away party, you have taken me and two incompetent fools to a restaurant that should have been condemned by the board of health long ago, and you expect me to pay for my own meal and our dessert. Doesn't that just seem a bit wrong?" I'm raging now and I can't stop. My purse lies ruined on the seat, and cockroach number three has been attracted to the sauce on what used to be it's perfectly embossed fabric.

"Hey, did you forget to take your meds today?" Tom asks. He laughs, weezing, like this is a joke. Like he's my friend and he has my permission to joke with me this way.

"Don't let me get started with you. We are not friends. You're pathetically emotional. You cry at everything, and you are probably one of the most disgusting people I have met in all my 60 years of life. If I was your mother I would be ashamed of you. You pick your nose multiple times a day and either eat the boogers or wipe them under your desk. Don't think I haven't noticed." My voice waivers a bit as I see he is beginning to cry. I was a bit sooner than I expected, but I am so emotionally removed that I don't care. "And you continue to refer to me as some 'old hag' or 'bag of bones' or 'senile sally' or whatever your not-as-clever-as-you-think mind comes up with. It's rude. People are supposed to respect people that are older then them--I have more intellegence and experience than you, and I deserve your respect."

Finally, I turn on Kate. But there, I realize I have nothing really to say. My anger cools a bit as I see her eyes shining. She is finally showing some vivaciousness. "Kate, I'm sorry i called you a fool a minute ago. But I have some advice--stop following this jerk" I point to Greg "around. He's not going to help you move on in life. He's not going to do anything except belittle you and ruin what youth you have by wasting it at the office. Go find a better place to make your living. Do something extraordinary. But don't stay here as long as I did. In fact, leave as soon as you can." With that, I pick up my soy sauce stained bag, wipe it on Greg's jacket, and leave, without paying my tab. I hope Kate doesn't get stuck covering it.

I guess I've still got some life in me, even after forty two years of keeping quiet. I clamber into my car, turn it on, and put my Josh Groban casette into the tape deck, hoping it will calm me down. When I look up, Kate is standing outside my passenger side door, waving and smiling. I roll down the window.

"I knew you had it in you. I've been waiting for you to give it to them for ages. Why else would I follow Greg to your desk?" She smiles. "Can I get a ride?"



Have a great evening :)